Town folk say they're through
makin' beer runs for you.
it's time they made a stand.
You;ve had 100 roads
ahead of you
but none of them had plans.
Your base camp 's among the bulrushes
near the town where we were born.
You were once it's favored Son
now you are its thorn.
Old friends have grown road weary
of your cries of rancor and despair.
Outside their doors
they see you slummin'
but, none of them are there.
Here, your problems are your problem
until you're pushed on to some new lair.
A man amongst the millions,
The lonesome-est dove of all
No beer runs are forthcomin'
before you walk
you'll have to crawl.
Great hopes for you have faded ,
in the town
where we grew tall
and true as corn
You were once,
it's Favored Son
Now you are its thorn.
Should I feel pity
as you weave through traffic
like some drunken clown?
Wearing your impediments
like a royal crown.
You sidle off to mingle carelessly
on The Avenue Of Shame.
You chose the easy road
you know you did.
Who, but you
is there to blame?
So many roads ahead of you
All leading to the end..
A man amongst the millions
With not a single friend to call.
No beer runs are forthcomin'
before you walk
you'll have to crawl.
Laid out
on soggy cardboard
a 211 clutched in your brittle, hand.
Your pant legs,, mud encrusted.
Your socks, layered in wet sand.
All paths are blocked ahead of you.
Without a marching band.
A man amongst the millions
A lonesome dove and all
Do you now know why
I'll make your next beer run?
You won't even have to,beg, bargain or bawl.
Before we learned to walk
again
We had to learn to crawl...
Buddy Bee Anthony
Re-edited 04/ 03/2024 @ 4:38 PM Pacific Time
All editing, publishing and Copyrights reserved as is by this author