my name is miguel simone a man who walked it alone at least that s what it says on the stone under the sycamore my mother was dead by the time i was born in the black of my eyes the gypsy woman warned she could already see my path torn between the sun and the moon so i walked it and i walked it straight until i passed through so many a gate that not even the blame and the hate of my father could follow so roll me into my last shallow bed use carpenter tacks in the lid waste not the silk on my head my lover has wove see that no roses touch my grave no prayers to a god i never forgave no final wishes save that you bury my body and me down by whiskey grove i once knew the love of a wife sometimes the nectar sometimes the knife but it always seemed that my life was lived alongside of things three children born one hot july she clutched the one that did not die the heat and the light just passed by as i carried the other two i still carry the other two i ve seen the place where the daylight was killed and the blood of a blue moon lay spilled where hearts go quiet memory stilled rest is bestowed it s a place where the cup passeth over for good and even jesus would ve hid if he could in that forsaken stretch of wood they call whiskey grove my name is miguel simone a man who walked it alone at least that s what it says on my stone under the sycamore