It's pretty good, the wine
|
The way that we look at
|
Ten to eight in the morning
|
Just talking, still awake in
|
Dawn and dew drinking, thinking
|
Always...
|
|
Remembering the laughs, the time
|
We got high for seven days down
|
In New Orleans and it seemed like
|
No one else knew we were just
|
The moon and sun in fog before the
|
Heat burned it away and took
|
The sleep from tired heads on
|
Beds of reaching hands, of road trip
|
Breath and long tall freedom
|
|
And then you long
|
For the days of trippin' down
|
The long road just reading the
|
Signs that show you the way to
|
A higher place you meditate to
|
Feel the quiet of the earth
|
That was back
|
When we used to be alright
|
|
Another shame, the way
|
The city smells worse on
|
A hot day in August...2 PM
|
Right before us good movers
|
Move and us shakers break
|
Our hearts getting home to
|
Country love and the garbage
|
Dump by the dried up creek
|
Near the forest that once had life
|
And then I turn on the news
|
Somebody shoot me soon
|
I'm tired of over heating, falling
|
Quick to bending knees and
|
Broken veins, of always needing
|
Faith to get to shore and break
|
All the vows I've made
|
|
No time or presence
|
Of mind to wonder why
|
No time for questions of
|
Why I wonder why
|
Something's wrong...again
|
The noise shakes the ground
|
There's a rage in
|
The crowd and I'm a face
|
In the crowd, what's your name?
|
You're sinkin' in the sand
|
Standing next to me, a river
|
Running through your pants, afraid
|
To trust me when my hands
|
Are helping you
|
|
-----------------
|
Used To Be Alright
|
| I Mother Earth |
