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undefined May 2021
He was a big gunslinger, real bell-ringer,
never backed down from a fight.
A game changer, friend of danger,  
living life one night at a time.

He'd go out and hit the bars every night,
shooting pool and drinking *****
He had jet-black hair, a devilish smile,
and fists full of bad tattoos.


On a southern trail she rode the rails
with a big ol' dog, and a big ol' knife.
She sang so sweet, busking on the street,
but do her wrong and it might cost your life.


He bought her a drink and said, "What do ya think,
could we make this last all night?"
She said "Yes," but had to confess,
"I'll be gone before morning's light."

He said "Come with me,"
they agreed, and out the door both of 'em went.
Now stories are told, but nobody really knows,
'cause aint either been seen since.

{CH}

Sometimes you don't know about the end of the road,
some things just can't be seen.
And sometimes when you go, and reach the end of the road,
it might just be the beginning...



... Sometimes I like to think that they just dropped off the grid,
maybe he gave up the drink, and now they're raising 'em a couple of kids.
... And she's happy singin' songs to the trees,
on a porch out somewhere where no one else can see.

{ch}

'Cause sometimes you don't know about the end of your road,
some things just can't be seen.
And sometimes when you go and reach the end of your road,
it might just be a new beginning.
undefined May 2021
walking through the dark
on the outskirts of Baton Rouge
just me and a bunch of stars
no one else to talk to

the yard is staging cars
expecting a train
gather my gear
trying to   beat   out   the rain...


wind is a howling
roosters start to crow
6-string on my back
bound for a Houston show

I like the early morning
quiet, dark, and cold
watching for that engine
and   tryin ta breath    real    low...


the "CLASP! of thunderous coupling
"SkReeeech," its time ta go
wind is a rushing
this steel     carries       me       on...
undefined May 2021
"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.
undefined Mar 2021
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.
Savin these here for sometime later.
undefined Jan 2021
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.
Just glad to have a place here where I can vent some of these feelings out ...
undefined Oct 2020
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.
IDK what I'm writing, I just liked the sound it made coming out,. I'll save it here for now
undefined Jul 2020
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
Just waiting for the bus in Lubbock
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