There was no bridge that was too far
No letter mailed that was too short
No message tacked to the back door
Or shouted out in front as a last resort

The open cupboard bears no fruit
The garden grows green of ****
There are no mountains , just a hill
And mutterings of , "it's all God's will."

The windows feel like bullet holes
The rusty nails tremble , weak
Wondering is it safe inside
Knowing there's nothing there that I now seek

So by ease the river flows
I sit and think and want to know
As twigs and leaves float on by
I'm asking if this isn't all a great big lie

You can always count on those pretty blue skies
Except those days it clouds
to rain from way up high
And the stores have not remained the same
when going down streets of first or main

I made a mistake we all will do
That something's stuck to the past life's super glue
There is nothing there that now remains
Except my foolish folly and
broken panes