beside me on the cool dirt. Grab a drink, relax and tell me why there's so much suffering--did the world always hurt? We're not prophets, nah, lord knows we ain't prophets, but happenstance you don't have to be a prophet to see the strain and tears drifting down the river with the eddies ebbing and flowing with a pulse flickering through the blood red snow covered banks. Nah, we ain't no prophets. Least not that the people gonna sacrifice for our souls. Times the drowning river draws us forward, and we sho nuff feel it, don't we now?
But I ain't gonna ask for not too many more. I see the bright rays flickering through the trees, and I feel the warm shoulder often enough, sheltering from that cold dam wind. There just ain't no room for wanting anythang more. A full gut and a kindled stove, and we'll settle on down the river with the rest of them.