Pan-American Blues - Silver Jews

A fifth on decoration day for the doctor that fixed my arm

The federales back from Tuscon, each one got an arm gone

Limehouse Pratt got dim inside

Can’t see the painted ladies runaround at night

A wood-paneled room

My cigarette fumes waltz and dissolve just for you

There’s gonna be a truce

There’s gonna be a truce

There’s gonna be a truce

But first you got to set your horses loose

A jaguar simmering in a cage

Give him a chance

Can you tell the answer from the ants?

History’s got its walking papers

Can’t get enough of the make-up

That makes it look so tough

Well, it seems just like a freeze-out

Seems just like a freeze-out

Seems just like a freeze-out

An undisclosed, deeply wooded

Lose your way route