Carnival Man
Lonesome Wyatt
The carnival man with the sickly grey suit
Beat his black stick on the ground
To the sound of the wagons, the sound of the horses
We move on to the next broken town
Well I was a wagon involved in this journey
The dust never [?] them to me
And just like preachers screaming to God
My [?] were crushed to the ground
Still onward I marched and upward I rode
To the sound of the sweet flowing river
