Little Red Wagon, Little Red Bike, I

Let Me Drink From The Waters Where The Mountain Streams Flood Let The Smell Of Wildflowers Flow Free Through My Blood Let Me Sleep In Your Meadows With The Green Grassy Leaves Let Me Walk Down The Highway With My Brother In Peace Let Me Die In My Footsteps Before I Go Down Under The Ground.

The Ghosts Race Towards The Light, You Can Almost Hear The Heavy Breathing Spirits, All Determined To Get Somewhere. New Orleans, Unlike A Lot Of Places You Go Back To And That Don't Have The Magic Anymore, Still Has Got It. Night Can Swallow You Up, Yet None Of It Touches You. You Can't See It, But You Know It's Here. Somebody's Always Sinking.

I Hate Myself For Loving You And The Weakness That It Showed. You Were Just A Painted Face On A Trip Down To Suicide Road.

Freedom Just Around The Corner For You, But With The Truth So Far Off, What Good Will It Do?

I Became Interested In Folk Music Because I Had To Make It Somehow.