My Wayward Son

 

Stories never told, history never known.
Up here he ate his humbled pie.
Winters in the cold, chilled him to the bones.
Fall of '22, we said goodbyes.

Staring into the flames, fireplace night.
Go move the woodpile, my wayward son.
Didn't need a cane, could take big big bite.
Fastest he ever seen a human run.

Serve him up some beef, fed off the land.
Slice a sweet onion, slice a tomato, too.
Check his dancing feet, two stepping man.
Always seemed in a good, good mood.


Went up to the cold.
Left his Texas home.
Went up to the cold.
Went to be alone.

CGAmF