This bleak existence
reeks
of cisterns,
it peeks it's leaky head
above the gutters.
Shuttered **** tight.

Death is the meaning of life.

Sylvia knew it best,
resting under home,
bone heavy
and sleepless.
That jar of hers;
irksome,
thirsts on monochrome
bleakness;
needless, overblown nerves.
Smash it!
Crush it!
Whack it!
Mush it!
Classic glassy mess.
Break it!
Fix it.
Tape it.
Place it.
Back now on your head.

them Tennessee mountains
live in his marrow's core*
them Tennessee mountains
are the place he'll always adore

it's time for that Tennessee boy
to get on back to feel its welcoming air
he so wants be amid
the mountain's wilderness of peachy fair

there his roots do belong
grounded in every splendid furlong
he's been away from this homely hearth
roaming an unsated path

Adaline his sweet gal
waits in Tennessee
she'll greeting him with a kiss
under the crab apple tree
in her arms is where
he'll ever stay
cause she's the darling
who abides in his heart's cay

he's been dreaming of returning
to hear a blue jay's refrain
that calls in the mountains
with a sunlit twain

them Tennessee mountains
beat in his *****'s emotion
their soulful essence
*so blissful of devotion