and on through this growing darkness

We sat up on the roof, tossin' our empties at our heels,
and ol' Brodie picked out a tune that went floatin' up over them fields,
I could never follow suit, 'cause that skill was not within me,
I just sat off by myself, thinkin' 'bout that girl in Iowa City.

With her sapphire beams, and sugar Grey Goose grin,
she showed her claws, sunk 'em in, I felt the lightnin' blacken my skin.

Now what I say, well it don't matter much,
but you should stay away girl, 'cause I'm bad, bad luck,
And you say, you could save me from the worst,
so you drank dry the tumbler in which I poured my curse.

Well that fire that we held, it aint' nothin' but a ditch,
and you crack that whip to make me run, but you won't tell me which
way you wanna' fly, tell me where do you want to fall,
I got a hundred numbers to spin, but aint' nobody gonna' take my call.

So I spit my broken hope, stare into your tremblin' eyes,
I see the clouds drift, winds shift, and it salts the wound inside,
I'm your battered old mule, I come to you breathin' like a train,
I drag the ocean to your door, but your still beggin' me to make it rain.

Now what I say. . .

. . . and so you drank dry the tumbler in which I poured my curse.

Now won't ya' hold my hand, when them dark clouds hit the ground,
we'll go swimmin' through the green skies, we aint never comin' back around.

a little tune i wrote on the banjo
comments and criticisms, greatly appreciated, and shall be returned.
"Pain or damage don't end the world nor despair, nor fuckin' beatings. The world ends when you're dead, until then you have more punishment in store. Stand it like a man, and give some back."
Last edited by Toadvine at Feb 16, 2012,