The Silver Jews. Pan-American Blues. Zeneszám

a fifth on decoration day
For the doctor that fixed my arm
The federales back from Tuscon
Each one got an arm gone

Limehouse Pratt got dim inside can't see
The painted ladies run around at night
A wood-paneled room, my cigarette fumes
Waltz and dissolve just for you.

There's gonna be a truce
There's gonna be a truce
There's gonna be a truce
But first you got to set your horses loose

A jaguar simmering in a cage
Give him a chance
Can you tell the answer from the ants
History's got it's walking papers
Can't get enough of the make-up that makes it look so tough

Well, it seems just like a freeze out
Well, it seems just like a freeze out
Well, it seems just like a freeze out
An undisclosed, deeply-wooded lose your way route.