There is a man who lives on a corner
Where students live, right next to the practice fields.
He's older and a smoker
He stands on the corner everyday
At a four-way stop
Smoking one after another.
I've seen him in snow, bitter cold and sweltering hot days.
Always smoking
He's out all day it seems,
Watching the cars pass by
Pausing in confusion because they don't know how to obey a stop sign.
I think he must laugh sometimes
Watching the world pass by.
I've seen him for years but I've never known his name
He almost seems like an old friend sometimes
I pass by and see him there nearly every time
I always wonder why
What led him to a life of smoking all the time?
I know the answer I heard it one time,
A veteran who didn't come back alright,
people whisper in shame as they pass by.
But his eyes are a genuine kind.
He smokes, killing time.
I wonder if he's just waiting to die
But still I see him and he brings a smile to mind.
To the man on the corner, smoking all the time.

I write things that feel right
But often the memories don't line up
I wonder why
In dreams my life speaks
Of horrors and pleasant things
Gripping a rifle at the bottom of a hole
Buttoning a child's coat when she's cold
A secret life that isn't mine
Yet is just as real as tonight
I wonder why
These memories are in my mind
I write of many lives
And I'm starting to think all are mine.

I walked away
To a different night
To a different life
A dream of another time
If I'm alive how come I go?
If I die, will I come alive?
I walked away tonight,
Left this life
In the morning perhaps I'll return.

It comes by
Passing time
Telling stories of yesteryear
With a gleam in the eye
And scathing wit for the blind.

Look at life this way,
A simple lie told at night
To children who have never seen the light
And wonder what it must be like.

A wanderer once came
Speaking of foreign things
Perhaps the madness is true
And the watcher watches you.

Turned myself inside out
Like a bag,
Looking for something lost inside
Handed out all the spare change,
Threw away the wrappers,
And bits of paper once important before.
Found a few IOU's,
Stacked away from many days
I should cash them in
Give myself the time.
Getting a little worn,
Time to have some fun.

Hallowed wind
The storm begins
The windows creak
The timbers moan
As this house shelters alone.
Clouds blowing in,
Wintry snow falls slow
Waiting for the storm to blow.
Shaking the trees
Dusting the peaks.
Windy nights
Wrestles snow from its clouded home.

I saw the barren street,
Full of empty sound.
Children looking for some place to be,
With no one around.
Such a proud people once roaming free.
The marks you left on this land are clear.
I see it on the rocks, etched in stones.
A wisdom forgotten,
Of stars above and seasons long ago.
Now that's slipped into eternity,
But I still see the proud gleam
When you sing,
The chant a rhythmic pulse.
I feel the dance of your feet against the ground
And I know this empty land still calls you home.
I smile when I hear your drums
To a life buried but not gone.
I live not far though this is not my own.
This land knows and these mountains speak,
The red of this ground flows in you,
Children of the ground.