My back is stiff, my eyes are heavy
Sitting under live oak branches, waiting for the rain
Pecans litter the ground, their shells hard & matte
Yet the core is rotten, the shells deception
I watch your calloused hands, blistered & raw
A face drawn tight with every rasping breath
Telling stories through wine-stained lips
Of open country, trails that lead to nowhere
My heartache disguised behind a smile
Sounds of wet wood catching in the open fire
Add another log, to see us through this hour
Tell me another story, father..