Bruce Donnola: Music

• MP3 short clip, hi-fi play (broadband)

He came staggering out of the Union Station
Wheeling around, clutching at his bloody head
And he fell to his knees in the Bank Street traffic
In the blood and the screams, there he made his bed

As a boy he'd come out from the brushwood thicket
Full of faith and dreams and an endless road to come
But every road must turn, every street ends somewhere
Till you don't even know if you're running to or from

First the fine flannel suit and then the black fedora
Then the well-oiled black Baretta gleaming in the sun
Then it's watch each step, don't go out till sundown
Till the only life left is lived on the run

He hid in dark matinees of the movie houses
Watching show after show of the filmed life of Christ
And in the garden when Jesus calls out, "Save me father."
Well, every cheap gangster finds himself there in those cries.

There's a train leaves at seven headed for Vancouver
Where the mountains reflect in the tall silver towers
Where the trite dreams of boys from the brushwood thicket
Can be dreamed once again in a matter of hours

He came staggering out of the Union Station
Wheeling around, clutching at his bloody head
And he fell to his knees in the Bank Street traffic
In the blood and the screams, there he made his bed.