Hills remember dreams,
Stones remember Queens ,
No second renaissance here,
Yet all’s not quite as it seems.
Bottle of Old Crow,
Enjoyed during yard mow,
Wait for the Second Coming,
Hoping not to go below.
Don’t know the reason,
We sing so out of season,
No second act to show us,
Why freedom isn’t treason.
Secrets in the barn lot,
Lost virtues in the stew pot,
No second sight illuminates,
The last truth tribe, is forgot.
What to hate? What to Love?
All reason is a turtledove.
No second Son leads the way,
Colored lights hover above.
Enlightenment we seek,
One day of every week,
No second wind to buoy souls,
Spared the dire fate o’ Shoal Creek.
Here goes dear number seven,
Friday we’ll zumba in Heaven,
No second chance for Charlie Pride,
To dance & eat unleaven.
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