There’s an old man sittin’ by
The old canteen, his visions
Are filled with the jingle, jingle
Of his girl in red and grey

The slow blink of his lashes
Cause the cottonwoods to
Rustle, in time with
His jingle, jingle

He sits with the autumn
Wears his thin shirt without
Tremble, to off time
His jingle, jingle

Singing with the wind
Without blanket or robe
His jingle, jingle chased Sung
Back over there
As the moon slide
Behind the ridge

His absence now
Make The People pick at the food
With care, Lyla prepared
The Plate

Someone left a pack a smokes
By the old canteen, for the
Drunk who once sat there