LYRIC FOR SALE

By Ph. Ness

Digging for the Devil
(Blues — Country/Folk-Blues (crossroads/devil blues))

Verse 1
Every Friday, I took Route 9 home,
threw the empties past County 4.
That night, I put my fist
through the kitchen wall.
My daughter cried, “Daddy, stop.”
Her mother wrapped her in my coat
and the Buick backed down the drive.
Blood ran from my hand to the porch.

Pre-Chorus
Folks say the devil waits
where two blacktops cross.
I waited till sunrise.
He never came.
Sunday night,
I brought a shovel.

Chorus 1
Digging for the devil
in the red clay off Route 9.
Got one Friday night to trade back
for every year that’s left of mine.
If he can send that Buick backward
and put my daughter behind that door,
I’m digging for the devil
till my hands can’t dig no more.

Verse 2
Clay packed beneath my fingernails.
Roots caught hard beneath the blade.
At one foot, rusted cans.
At two, rain filled my boots.
At three, the shovel rang on glass.
One green half-pint.
Then another.
Same black caps.
Same cheap brand.
By dawn, seven bottles
stood beside the hole.

Chorus 2
Digging for the devil
in the red clay off Route 9.
Got one Friday night to trade back
for every year that’s left of mine.
If he can send that Buick backward
and put my daughter behind that door,
I’m digging for the devil
till my hands can’t dig no more.

Bridge
No hoofprint. No smoke.
Seven bottles by my boots.
Every one was mine.
I held the oldest to the sunrise.
My split hand doubled in the glass.
The church bell struck six.
I filled the hole.

Final Chorus
Done digging for the devil
in the red clay off Route 9.
Seven bottles in a feed sack.
Every one of them was mine.
No Friday night comes backward.
No Buick climbs the drive.
Done digging for the devil.

Outro
St. Mark’s basement.
Burnt coffee.
Twelve folding chairs.
I took the one beside the door.
When my turn came,
I told them about Friday.