127 Rose Avenue

Somewhere in the cradle of the deep south

Magnolias sway in the breeze

To the lonesome sound of a Red Boned Hound;

Howlin' at the moon and the trees.

There's a sad eyed boy, with his guitar;

Cuttin' his teeth on the blues.

Wishin' on a falling star, at 127 Rose Avenue

The distant moan of a midnight train,

Comes blowin' through the night.

He dips his pen in tears and pain;

And he begins to write.

Bout a whippoorwill too blue to fly,

And the Indian he once knew.

Bout lost highways, and purple skies;

At 127 Rose Avenue.

Caretaker said as he shook his head,

"Son to you believe in Ghosts?

For a five dollar bill you can feel the chill

That he felt long ago."

So a I bought me a ticket at the front door;

Guess who was there inside.

I felt his presence through the whole tour,

God I swear, he was alive.

I saw the train, I felt the pain,

I heard him moanin' the blues.

Twenty-nine years of memories;

At 127 Rose Avenue.

Caretaker said as he shook his head,

"Son to you believe in Ghosts?

For a five dollar bill you can feel the chill

That he felt long ago."

Another side eyed boy with his guitar,

Cuttin' his teeth on the blues.

Here I am wishin' on a falling star,

At 127 Rose Avenue

It ain't in Nashville...

It's not in Montgomery...