Text:
Mountain Goats The Tallahassee

Bad luck comes in from Tampa Bad luck comes in from Tampa On the back of a truck Doing ninety up the interstate We have bad dreams the night he rolls

Window facing an ill-kept front yard Plums on the tree heavy with nectar Prayers to summon the destroying angel Moon stuttering in the sky like film stuck

Ah the lengthening hours in the refinery Belching fire into the sky We do our best vampire routines As we suck the dying hours dry The night is lovely

Dug up a fifth of Hood River gin That stuff tastes like medicine But I'll take it It'll do On the couch in the living room all day long Music on the

This place with its old plantations These roads leading out to the sea This day full of promise and potential More clay pigeons for you and me All of

I hope that our few remaining friends Give up on trying to save us I hope we come up with a failsafe plot To piss off the dumb few that forgave us I

From the housetops to the gutters From the ocean to the shore The warning signs have all been bright and garish Far too great in number to ignore From

I was driving up from Tampa When the radiator burst I was three sheets to the wind A civilian saw me first And then there was the cop And then the children

Look beyond the broken bottles Past the rotting wooden stairs Root out the wine-dark honeyed center Not everyone can live like millionaires Look through