there s a little country pocket where we ll spend most of the rest of our lives we ll raise a little family wipe the tears from our children s eyes and we ll write little notes for posterity that no eyes shall look upon save you and me that lazy sun is drifting it s falling down like a drunk man to his knees and the moon a spying eye is rolling on the silhouetted trees and our old dog is running away towards the spot where my father lay return to the clay let us take what we need from the garden give the love we have until it s gone leave the paintings of our mothers to our daughters let our histories guide us on