By David De Jong
I’m writin’ these here words, don’t know what else to do,
They just run through my brain simmerin’ like stew.
Seems lonely times of workin’ they come at me the most,
Generally accompany thoughts of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
So I’m wonderin’ what it is, they might be tryin’ to get me to say,
Get’s a little crazy, every thought comin’ in rhymin’ that way.
Maybe it’s a way the Good Lord helps me deal with the things of life,
For instance; right now, I be missin’ my beautiful wife.
Or maybe it keeps my anger from runnin’ wild,
When all your thoughts is rhymin’, purty hard to get riled.
I’ve learned to take a while and jot em down,
Some crack a smile, others just draw a frown.
Seems to be a message though, hidden in the words,
Fer some, its all nonsense, mainly just fer the birds.
I don’t mind that none, they can have their way,
Long as they give it a read, and I’ve said, what I have to say.
I know there be folks that enjoy such ramblin’s, keep em bound in a leather purse.
Nights I’ve been kept up till sun-up, words chasin’ round my head, rhymin’ bein’ a curse.
All-n-all, hope my wayward thoughts, treat your heart and soul well,
Thank you, for sittin’ quiet and ponderin’ this craziness fer a spell.
Just remember, come night-fall, when the work is done, no words left to tell,
Say a prayer, thank the Father, fer sendin’ His Son, to save us all from hell.