Wood Jackson

(David Bowie)

Jackson made twenty tapes in a day
To give away
A give away
And he'd play the tunes they call creative when they're running out of names
Heavens know he's really torn it
Now but the names that hurt poor Jackson stopped the haters in his way
Heaven knows he's for it

Shame, hey hey
He was never quiet and sure but really sane
Wants to play

Jackson stole twenty souls in a day
To take away
A take away
He takes away

And no complaints
Heart's upon his sleeve and his blade
Wood Jackson took a beating every day
Given out, passed away
Another way
Hey hey
Just wants to play

And how he'd play
The mob they bleedin' tremble when they're running after life
Heavens knows he's really torn it now
The words that killed Wood Jackson's friends were written on the wall
Heavens knows he's for it
Just wants to play
It's a shame
It's a shame
Wants to play
It's a shame
It's a shame
Just wants to play