He’s got a tired face

At that shaky place

The gulf wind could pick him up a quarter note

But his wild eyes would just gaze out the swaying boat

As he looked for a port along the coast

A full measure he needed the most.

This ain’t workin’ out

A boy scout could see where this Indian is headed

Shades of green run in his eyes

Always thinkin’ of her blue eyes

Why, why, why

Sometimes he just wishes he could. . . . .

Petition God

Of His Firm Pounding Rod.

Nothings easy any more

Opening and closing doors

Doing just his regular chores

Things that used to come easy

Keep him busy

All day

No way

As time slips away

Into a sinking sunset

Where the sky and the light and the ocean met

To form a speck of creation

And paid the debt in litigation.

La – de - da

Ha -  ha - ha

He’s laughing all the way

Then crying the next day

There’s nothing to say

With eighth notes changing the tempo

And a full measure still to go.

DWB©MMX