Created

[couchgrouch]

CreatedAfter Dad finished dinner, he'd play guitar by the moonlisten to the nightbirds, tip a jug and write words to a lonesome tunethat song was like my brother, Dad raised both of us for yearshe'd erase a line, and change a rhyme till it sang right to his earsone day I found some paper, by his guitar and penhis last verse was gone, so I took that song and tried to finish the endIt's tough trying to get it, as good as I can make itcos the best songs never stop, being createdwell, I fell for a fallen angel, whose wings were caked with dustone night she said "Darlin', I'm headed back to Harlan on the morning bus"I heard that restless lady, loved men more than loveshe threw away my heart, like the hand of fate discards its bloody glovesthough I've crossed out some mem'ries, changed my tune and learnedI don't curse dues I've paid, cos each mistake I've made, made me better in returnI came into this life, weak and poor and nakedbut a good man never stops, being createdwell, I can see the nightwings, silouhette the moonas I sit here alone, by my father's stone and sing his lonesome tunejust when I think it's finished, I rewrite it againand just like those lines, I b'lieve my father's time hasn't reached its endsomewhere the spirit sings, when the flesh has fadedcos a good man never stops, being createdno, we never stop being createdwe never stop being created...(c)2006 Robert George