Cannonball Days

What's come to stay from the cannonball days But a house and some clothes on the line Fire the wave of your drunken brigade The streets of New York as a child Woman so fine, and fine as a girl, Slow like an Italian wine Hair all a mess and a dress all disheveled And all of your roses have died Better luck in the next life, Cause you gonna need it, dear Loved you back then but I couldn't say when All of your roses have died Tasted your lips with my hands on your hips Danced in an apartment named nine, Your cats on the sill and my head to your breast Feeding your rhythms divine A west jersey queen with a rattle machine, Tasted the salt through your skin, Loved you back then, but I couldn't say when All of your roses have died Better luck in the next life, Go give them some hell and goodbye Loved you back then but I couldn't say when All of your roses have died Bask in the heat down on Christopher Street Bought you a rose from a bum Left you a note that I stuffed in your coat Laughed and you said it was done Broke like a stem and I guess you're with him I'm sure that he treats you just fine So bottoms up cheers baby here's to your tears And all of your roses have died Better luck in the next life I miss you but go on goodbye I feel like a straight from this cannonball days When all of your roses were mine When all of your roses were mine When all of your roses were mine --- Cannonball Days - Ryan Adams