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Searchin'I remember seein' Levon, outside a Radio Shackwith his six-string and a, coat-hanger harmonica rackthe inside of his van was, always kinda smokysaid he saw Gram Parson's spirit, while on peyotelike a mystic priestone month he was Buddhist, one month he was Hindutime had no way of tellin', what he might be intohe'd pray on Misty Mountain, like it was a mosquesome said he was a lost soul, well, maybe he was lostbut brother at leasthe was searchin', searchin'...I useta smoke some homegrown, and stay up way past onestare at Sgt. Pepper's cover, while the record spunI always loved the Good Lord, but never felt the urgeto watch some TV preacher, with a crystal churchin Los Angelesbut there's a homeless mission, on Highland and Eighthsometimes I work the kitchen, serving hot bowls of faithI still crank Lucy in the Sky With Diamondsand I swear the Man in Black at the Rymanwas God's evangelistfor those searchin' for a reasonone more tomorrow to believe incall it fortune...call it fatelife is made for searchin'Levon knocked on my door last week, with a thriftstore suit n tieoffered me some books on truth, with a blank look in his eyewell, truth has always had people, circling around itbut no spirits are as lost, as those who say they've found itso I said truth is rarely clear and plainas for me I'll always remain searchin' for a reasonone more tomorrow to believe incall it fortune...call it fatelife is made for searchin'(c)2007 Robert George