The idealist.

Trick
Slick
Sonofabitch
Looking for an easy cure
Staying close to home
While running away
That warm light
Burning at his coattails
Smiling in the sunshine
Blowing smoke out of parked cars
Trying to settle down
While moving on
Sack on his back
And a bottle in his hand
Lonely train tracks
Filled with people
Trying to offer up some advice
Under their breath
While telling stories of taking chances
Littered like trash
In these bleached summer days
Showing shadows for who they are
A jacket on a skeleton
Small men speaking tall
They've had more than a few
Rope swung into the open water
Just to hit the shallows
Bruised and bloodied
Crawling up
To run home
Like some kind of joke
That hurts
Oh, it really hurts.