My bag is packed
with a pillow...

Slowly creeping by above,
high up in the sky...

That which rides
a witchs broom...

Hurt has two paths to follow,
In or Out of you...

You know its funny
Ive often heard it said...

Never heard a spoken word
that contained the truth...

It came to me
on one fine day...

While driving on the back nine
I came upon a fellow...

Sobriety didnt stop the rain
it taught me how...

Most can relate
with a belief...

Morticians made the arrangements
presenting what was left...

Fathers snaps at mothers words
frustration in her eyes...