The wages of an
unskilled working man never pay enough
From time to time the nickel race
keeps him from giving up
The blue -collared man in
Seattle never lives on
White
Collar
Street
But there was food on
the table for my
Washington woman and me
The work slowed down and then one
day the foreman laid me off
That night in a tavern down to my
last dime I met a girl from
Arkansas
Her daddy was a banker in
Little
Rock
She had a mansion on
White
Collar
Street
The next morning my
Washington woman woke
up without me
From city to city and state to state,
I grew heavier with shame.
My
Washington woman had six months left
before our child would bring her pain.
My
Arkansas woman hugged me
as we crossed the
Arkansas line
But the arms of
Seattle, they're arms that
kept hugging mine
Three years of best and expensive
wines taste cheaper every day
I gave up all the things I love for
all these things I hate
Locked up all of her forgiveness
the day I set myself free
And the heart of my
Washington woman stopped
beating for me
My
Washington woman sends me a
letter every once in a while
Inside a folded wordless page
is a picture of my child
All at once the room grows cold
with a feeling of jealousy
And there's a silence between my
Arkansas woman and me