First Few Desperate Hours

Bad luck comes in from Tampa
 Bad luck comes in from Tampa
 On the back of a truck
 Doing ninety up the interstate
 We have bad dreams the night he rolls in
 We have bad dreams the night he rolls in
 And we try
 To keep our spirits high
 But they flag and they wane
 When the truck pulls up out front in the light spring rain
 And they sag like withering flowers
 Let the good times roll on through these first few desperate hours
 The driver drops his cargo at the curb
 The driver drops his cargo at the curb
 And the sun peeks in
 Like a killer through the curtain
 And when cloven hoof prints turn up in the garden
 Yeah, when cloven hoof prints turn up in the garden
 We keep up the good fight
 We keep our spirits light
 But they drop like flies
 And there's a stomach-churning shift in the way the land lies
 And they lean like towers
 On a hillside, struggling to stand through these first few desperate hours