My love — this land was made for you — and me for our family — trees and our roots all its seasons turn — leaves turn, turn through strong winds — blowing lonely feelings small — I will lay me down, with toes worn numb — down by the sea, hug them, squeeze them…
Captured on the Grass
Captured by the blue grass on the lawn we lay in the sunshine of banjo rhythms harmonica and Kentucky pain and pleasure gathers our world in the shambles of a grind guttural delivered from a foot stomping stage you can’t bury us in the memory of winter spent it is a sweet Indian summer, sticky…