When I was a child I dreamed of a highway
and a silver city in the sky
now every road I'm on has got my name and number
and the city's a good place to die
just a town on a shut down train line
black water creek, black flyin' crow
sunday morning, God speaks right through you
in a little church on an old brick road
down at Barden Locker the men cut meat from the bone
the women stare at pictures on the wall
I'd give all I'll never own, just to be back home
in Blue Island, Illinois
the fields are bare in May
in Blue Island, Illinois
time slips sweetly sway
my father was the son of a son of a farmer
he cut the trees and sowed the land
he taught me how to judge rain, sun, and winter
but he saw I didn't have them farming hands
so I left for working the bars of St. Louis
and I was a docker in Port Elaine
and I stole cars and I picked apples
and I took 10 different names
and I was blessed by the hand of a stranger
and I was cursed by a friend
comes a day you find every breath is poison
and the broken wheel of life don't mend
in Blue Island, Illinois
the fields are bare in May
in Blue Island, Illinois
time slips sweetly sway
now I got a room at the Y in Cleveland
with a man who talks hard about Jesus Christ
I roll him smokes when his hands are trembling
but I never once look in his eyes
he sells his blood, every thursday morning
and tomorrow I think I'll go with him
the dreams we got, well I just can't tell you
they're mostly taken by the wind