I saw a blue jay this
morning right out my window
Flappin' and singin', yeah,
they makin' a fuss
Little
Finch came over to see the commotion
But that jaybird was a rotten,
foul -tempered wench
I scribbled it down,
thought I might sing it well
Figured by the last verse I
might ring the right bell
Kinda funny how one thought
triggers another
I was lying wide awake
most of last night
Reading
Grapes of
Wrath for about the third time
But we're the family of my own now,
so it truly offends me
I guess things seemed pretty good,
better than back then
Still we better love homes pretty good,
no friend
Well I grew up in the 80s,
in the heart of the bluegrass
Never looked blue to me
But that's another story
I filled up my days
With sunburns and ballgames
Never knew much worry
Really did no pain
Still my mother says son
Keep an eye overhead
Just cause some things look pretty
Don't mean they're friends
Speaking of friends,
I'm blessed with an army
But cursed by a mission,
many moons away
I'm running out the clock,
out in the ether
Just flapping and singing,
really making a fuss
The songs that I sing,
they all sound the same
Just like birds and little birds
Everything sounds the same
All these songs sound the same
They still feel like singing
Every song sounds the same
Could sing to my grave
All my songs sound the same
They still feel like singing
Everything sounds the same
At the bottom of a grave
I got 35 years under my belt
Never was much for counting
Mostly a about how I felt
Right now I feel weary
Pound town and feather
Just flopping and singing
Really making a fuss
The ache in my bones
The kinks in my neck
Might slow me down but don't bury me,
All these songs sound the same
But I still feel like singing
Every song sounds the same
Come sing to my grave
All my songs sound the same
But I still feel like singing, oh yeah
Everything sounds the same
The bottom of a crib