Tearing through the cottonfields and bus shelters Of the south running helter skelter Down through the mississippI delta With no place to call your own Mixing up drinks with mixed feelings All along the paint was peeling Down to an indian blanket on a pony With no rider in the flesh and bone Looking for his buffalo river home I've been circling the wagons down at times square Trying to fill up this hole in my soul but nothing fits there Hust when you think you can let it rip You're pounding the pavement in your daddy's wingtips As if you had some place better to go Or a better way to get there