"Home," I used to think,
was the road...
But now I know,
it's all the places in between.

Not the cracks and crevices in concrete.
Not the spaces swimming beneath my feet.
Not sidewalks, Rocky trails, or city streets...

"Home," is where I lay my head,
and REST my feet.
With friends I've known for years,
and new ones I meet.
Where I'm welcomed with smiles,
and something to drink...

My "home," is not the road (I love),
but little stops made,
at places in between.

The fiery orange reds
and forest pine greens
with highlights of yellows
and all the colors in between

The mossy southern oaks
and wild growth that runs
from virginia creeper
up around wooded trunks

the early morning mist is thick
as the waters of the bayou where it sits




(recipe for a good evening)

collect and gather wood to start a fire
dry, split, and place a top a pine needle ball
   douse in "drip," if you've got an oil field friend

Then light and let it roar,
sit down with a guitar,
  an' play the night in.

Thinking of buying a gun,
and pointing it at someone.

Thinking of taking a nap,
down on the railroad tracks.

Thinking of finding my place,
somewhere in outer space.

Thinking of buying a gun,
and putting the barrel on my tounge.

There's sometimes, when "paradise,"
Can't take it all away.
You don't fall in, to salvation,
And down in doom you stay.

I've found then, on a corner grin,
At a bar just down the street
When freedom turns to loneliness,
You can always find a drink.

Down this road, the only home I've ever known, the streets are stripped of Music bare as bone.
Not too long ago, I thought I'd forever roam, but now the streets are stripped of music, and I'm feeling more alone.
Work up a little wage, "scratch" to itch the call, but the streets are stripped of music , I got no home at all.
Got a ticket to ride the dog, anywhere else but here, but everywhere I go, ain't nothing for me there.
'Cause the streets are stripped of music, everywhere I go, never felt more empty... In all my times of writing songs

I dreamed I was painting with a dancers feet again.
I woke and there was hurt, which is love, which means life and God and good... So, hurt can't be all too bad I guess.