Spill

you've got grace in your running shoes
and your feet are on the earth
and these eyes that you've never used
and your tears are falling

(the repeated part referred hereinafter as `the billy')
let it fall into your pocket
let it have its way with you

away in Cuba maroons are drumming
no more sugar they are almost free
feet, sun, hands, hey, hands sun
a dirt-rising shuffle
no radio and no colour tv

the billy

in his kitchen he can't see fifty
my mother knew Jack when she was a kid
she wonders what went through he mind on Tuesday
before the bullet did

the billy