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Mexican Home
Jeffrey Foucault
Popularity ยท Moderate
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๐ฌ๐ง English ยท Original
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Well, it got so hot last night, I swear you couldn't hardly breathe
And heat lightning burned the sky like alcohol
And I sat on the porch without my shoes and watched the cars roll by
As the headlights raced to the corner of the kitchen wall
Mama, dear, your boy is here, far across the sea
Waiting for that sacred chord that burns inside of me
And I feel a storm, all wet and warm, not ten miles away
Approaching my Mexican home
ย
"Oh my God," I cried, "It's so hot inside
You could die in the living room"
You take the fan from the window and knock the door back with a broom
And now the cuckoo clock has died of
Shock and the windows feel no pain
And the air is as still as the throttle on a funeral train
Mama, dear, your boy is here, far across the sea
Waiting for that sacred chord that burns inside of me
And I feel a storm, all wet and warm, not ten miles away
Approaching my Mexican home
ย
My father died on a porch outside on an August afternoon
And I sipped bourbon and cried with a friend by the light of the moon
So it's hurry, hurry, step right up, it's a matter of life or death
You know the sun's going down and the moon is just holding his breath
ย