I AIN'T WRITIN'
HOME NO MORE
HOME NO MORE
All this ever does is bring me trouble.
I've got a broken kneecap, and my arm
now's in a sling. The Army-post bus
hit me just the other day, but they
won't pay a thing. I'm growing
sick of all this muddle. Outside
of this, in what they call a town,
some Wrightsville pudenda keeps
howling at me. Bars and taverns,
laundromats and lottery stores.
I ain't writin' home no more.
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