There lives this boy, a slight retard.
He lives by the dirt road I drive.
He loves the sight of my car
approaching the open water tap where
his mother does the family laundry.
He plays with a few neighborhood dogs.
The dogs seem to love his company.
He takes them for a ride everyday in his
improvised jerry-can car. The dogs love
him more. Once he offered me a ride too.
This boy who lives by the road I drive
sings about his mother who does the
family laundry by the open public tap.
The mother doesn’t hear him sing.
She is lost in the dirt of the family rags.
Now, getting to the point about this boy
Who lives by the road I drive…
I want to trade this whiskey-drenched
life of mine with his and see, just foronce, if I can sing songs for my mother, too.