the ballad of Sean Foley

Fell down from your haven.
To an empire cityscape.
Someone asked him for directions.
He would always know the way.
Offer you his raincoat.
Let you hide under his hat .
If you cant walk from whiskey.
Hell just throw you on his back.
And then away youll go.
Through the crowd gathered below.
To the spinning wheels.
Of your mobile home.
And hell watch you sleep.
Like a guardian angel.
Stays inside the music.
Sometimes steps outside the law.
Always in the name of justice.
Still believes in the lost cause.
Distract you with a story.
Always tries to make you laugh.
He brings people together.
Like Gertrude
Stein and
Mama Cass.
And he says, 'My friends are yours,This towns full of open doorsTo the sold-out shows,Eighth bungalows,And the lonesome smokes,In this tiny studio.'
Always finds a muse.
Everywhere he goes.
Whether its the blues.
Or some abandoned showtune.
Learned how to be selfless,
How to love what wasnt there,
But never dwell upon it .
Just embrace whats everywhere.
People busking in the subway.
Mcs freestyle in the park.
Heard a kid from marthas vineyard,
Made him turn around his car.
And away he goes
To the local radio
Saying, 'Whats that sound?Id like to know,And this might sound strange,But I just cant let it go.'
Guess every sinner needs a saint .
Guess every sinner needs a saint.
Guess every sinner needs a saint.
Says everybody is the same.