Ever since the evergreens hit the winds and the calm foot set itself upon the first step of the hickory porch, hasn’t much been the same, but at the same time, ain’t nothing much changed either, I guess. Took me four times in the first place to finally get up and ride that thing, and now I sit here thankin’ that if the old winds don’t blow so cold this winter or next, that’s gonna put a stirrup in my step when I put on those boots, then man’s gonna make a lover out of me yet. It ain’t sorry like when Joe had his first kid, and the springtime rosie rosies all went red while we walked down the boulevard and you hoggin the hammock, but the longer she takes for the sake of the music the harder she takes it in when she opens herself up (you told me that). It ain’t a matter of right and wrong or learned or didn’t learn this that or the other thing, it’s a matter of pretentious righteousness, and these should have been the words of the argument had you wanted it to stick, but the allowance was given and made to sidestep that entire nexus, which in the end was used exactly against your argument in the first place, completely undermining you,- or, at least, inviting doubt and skepticism. That old argument. No, it was more of the time of year when spring just turns to summer, and you don’t want to go to class, and we got a sun in the air and boots somewhere in there too,- always wear boots. It’s said certainly and disgracefully that there is an absolute silence on the own part of the accusers, and for some reason this gets simply side-stepped, and pushed out into the alleyway without a shirt on. Lending it through fear, or through new boots is now you’re getting onto something, and’ll let it all purse out. This forest sure isn’t getting a bit less of a howl coursing through it and I’ll find you a motorway for your motorcar when we get far enough away, but for now, let the glorious rain come.