Tin Can Sullivan
Dark little cabin hidden in the lowlands
On the banks of a river lived Tin Can Sullivan
He was a rusted out shotgun all twisted and worn
By the lonely lifetime into which he was born

He was a damn fine trapper, worked for no one
Traded pelts for tobacco and feed for his horse
He would ride into Redtown, noble as a White Pine
Like a piece of some lost puzzle frozen in time

Tin Can Sullivan, sugar shack turned devilís den
Now it still smells like kerosene
They say your soul is stuck somewhere in between

Well, the mines brought two-lane highways
So they could bring the horseless carriage
Like a shotgun wedding for a loveless marriage
He rode through the summer, rode throughout the fall
Rode out of town one winter, lonesome as a falcon call

Tin Can Sullivan, heaven didnít take you there and then
But sent you floating down the Yellow Dog
To show up in dreams and on the midnight fog

He rode back to his cabin for a last look at the land
Got out a tin of kerosene and began to wash his hands
Opened up a drawer from the only cupboard in the shack
Got out a lucky bullet and let his eyes roll back

The first shot only hurt him, so he had to reload and try again
And the candle never tipped over, the cabin is still standing
Every time I pass it by I get a feeling of discontent
I look at all that weíve accomplished and I wonder if itís time well spent

Tin Can Sullivan, sugar shack turned devilís den
Now it still smells like kerosene
They say your soul is stuck somewhere in between

(Davis/Allen)
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