The man is coming in the morning
When you got your ticket
The drug you’ve still been taking
They don’t make you any sicker
All the places you’ve been sleeping
They make you seem like you’re wicked
Whippoorwill singing a poor sad world
He’s writing his note down
I’m sorry my angel, morning time
But I think I’ve gotta leave you
He’s laying here shut in the duct work
He’s laying his head back
Who’s gonna cry for poor sad world?
There ain’t a motherfucker
Who’s gonna cry for poor sad world?
Maybe the whippoorwill
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