i sat there some weeks before you walked up those steps and through the door and it s a hell of a thing to be considering if i had my bendin bow my string and my arrow there wouldn t be a thing between you and my meaning i ll remember your quiet way revisit it one quiet day the tug and pull of you just might see me through lay your hand in mine remember what you promised we would find i ll take you to where the green grasses grow to a place where that we could go that s where we belong where the trails meet the lines out among the gusty winds and the ponderosa pines in the hallowed halls and circling hills a man will do what he wills scratch those words right off your slate you ve had the time to recuperate
['roots worship']