beating the devil. (no banjo included)

I didn't ever play with any body else
whatever they would say wasn't very nice
The teachers knew I had brains that I didn't use
and the coaches couldn't make me run. there wasn't any use.

Why? At night I got the best of me
I was inevitably eaten up by my waking dreams
and spit out with all the other little nasty things
inside, and used to cut off my hopeful happy wings,
burn out. my throat until i couldn't sing
I knew. it wasn't anything
true,
but that little bit of nothing hurt my everything.
through.
I got over that. fast
like a thousand horse. power boat singing. hurt my tired throat so I. went ahead and wrote. down every quiet note. with a letter. they got evil. hurt the devil. better. stuck him in the dirt with his rusty lying shovel. never-
whenever the devil comes out
will I let him forget when I gave him a bout
with the knuckles that I wrote to knock his ass down
and told him what HE should stay up crying about.

showdown

chafed, chapped, and ready.
stood the two.
squared up. spit. steady

mississippi slow talk
just shot
arkansas quickdraw

he thought

but the red
filled his shirt.
.knees.

its prayer time boy.
yaw.