OLD OAK TREE

I hear the wind blowing, I see a letter blowing in the air, and I hear the words carried inside the words that of the pages of that I thought I tore apart. It is not even sunrise; I'm now back where I started without sleep. I find it humorous the places your thoughts have you travel when your thoughts become the inside and outside of you and run like the ocean hell of a deep

I hear the wind blowing, calling me a carny man, a con man, an evil man, everything but a god-fearing man. I replied, " I don't look inside the collection plate when it passes my hand, and all our prayers you promised are answered.

The wind keeps blowing. Maybe it is all the good and evil fighting across the skies day and night, waiting for some poor bastard to give up that fight. Well, guess what, whoever it is keeping score up or below? I'm not ready to be anyone's slave or whore so sorry bitches on your faces, I must shut that door and have that wind carry me back to my bed under the old oak tree in my backyard.