Tom Brown left his family.
Took steps from his front door,
And people said, "well, maybe he's dead,
Or drinking, like before."
It was a little bit less than a choice,
A little bit more than a whim,
When Tom Brown left his family.
Tom sits in his kitchen,
He'll look you in the eye;
With a lone tooth on the bottom,
He's sixteen long years dry.
He strums a big old steel-string,
His soul's in every word;
He'll play your favorite country song
And some you never heard.
Judgment ran like water,
Through a tired old mill town;
"To leave a wife with the two young boys,
That's a low-life, going down."
But every night on Second Street,
One candle flame would burn;
For a family still in quiet time
To pray for Tom's return.
Way out in Kansas City,
A hobo worked the street,
In a cloud of kids, singin' old time songs,
The glory to repeat;
He played "The Old Lady That Swallowed a Spider,"
He sang 'em the songs of Hank Snow and Merle Haggard;
Just stayin' alive for the year and the quarter
That Tom Brown left his family.
Is there a God to hear a prayer,
Or need an old-time song?
One light might cross a nation
To find a soul gone wrong?
When the call came from Missouri,
Way long past overdue;
Tom said, "I miss my family."
Said his wife, "We miss you, too."
Folks wonder what kind of a man
Would leave his kids to roam;
And question what kind of a woman
Lets that kind of a man come home.
It was a little bit less than a choice
A little bit more than a whim
When Tom Brown left his family
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