you say you’re tired of the rain falling down
on your cold shoulders
i remember pulling the grapes from the vines
to the top of the canyon you climbed
sandstone and pinyon pines
you and nothing but blue, blue skies
and you washed the mud and the silt
and the blood from the lamb that you killed
and went into the cabin you built for awhile
you’re the sound of the stone skipping out
on the frozen mountain lake
you’re the nest in the hollow log
you’re the last of the kids to come down
from the rusty trestle
you’re the friend of the feral dog
and you dance and stare at the stars
and their lights know right where you are
and they’ve already taken you far my friend
with a log and a rope
build a raft to the river’s sacred side
where the quail and the deer all sleep
with a yell and a laugh
you come down from the highest branches
and hit the water and dive so deep
and i know we’ll meet there again
in the place where the river begins
take a paddle you made out of tin and float on
you say you’re tired of the rain falling down
on your cold shoulders
i remember pulling the grapes from the vines
to the top of the canyon you climbed
sandstone and pinyon pines
you and nothing but blue, blue skies
you and nothing but blue, blue skies
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