Picture this: A sunny Sunday small town afternoon
Front page paper spread about the new library
Eyes inside a head inside the corner of a café
Twitch in sync with skinny legs by a deerskin suitcase

Oh, he levels cities in another life
He swallows swords of inquisition, whispered bar bets
Oh, he's got a face you can't forget
And his name is Mr. Milford and he's got a secret!

Mr. Grady watched the day he first came to the city
Eyes were lashed with saddle rash from riding Greyhound
People here are giving him the space of someone wide
Shadow cast by a hazy past is long in this light

Oh, he levels cities in another life
He swallows swords of inquisition, whispered bar bets
Oh, he's got a face you can't forget
And his name is Mr. Milford and that is all they know
They want him to go
Their anger shows
Through stares in windows
Wherever he goes

Back in the café his body perches somewhere calm
And you can hear the chorus of one hundred sweaty palms
He says some tiny epitaph and then he starts to laugh
His concrete face it breaks it cracks and if you and I were there trust me
We'dbelaughing too

Oh, now he's walking to the door
And he's smiling wider than a bridge too far
Oh, now he's bending with the light
Like a foreign map to fold together
Steps across the cuts the tether
Holding back the bricks and feathers
In a dream you might remember
What the things he whispered meant