Soft rain on a live oak tree, like the crackle of fire that brings no heat
Like melting letters on old tombstones, the loneliness in a freight train moan.

Soft rain on a live oak tree, like a rustling on the edge of your dream
Like an dusty square where a memory hung, a name that got caught on the end of your tongue.

Eloisa, come out to me tonight.
Your momma's not home, and your daddy's flying in his own private dream.

Soft rain on a live oak, tree like the sad footfall of refugees
Spanish moss, the night's enuii, how statues mourn in verdigris

Eloisa, come out to me tonight.
Your momma's not home, and your daddy's flying in his own private dream.
Eloisa, come now, let's run away.
My truck's over there. We'll make Alabama by the breaking of day.

Soft rain on a live oak tree snares floatsom stars in tiny black seas
It's the night sweats, a dream's debris, a wish returned by a blind addressee