She claims to be a gypsy and that her heart is far from gold.
You claim you’ve always loved her and then you set her free to roam.
She’s never known one like you
And she has never had a home,
But it’s clear to see her heart belonged with yours all along.
And if your love remains after time has changed the moon
You need only call her name; her heart will know the tune.
She will be yours forever as long as you leave her untamed
And you will always be her modern Will James.
I always liked the beginning of a day. The way the sun comes up softly at first and then all at once. I just never did like letting go of the night and my warm bed.
She dreamed not of a well-lit path, but of lighting the way herself one match at a time,
at a time until she had created a light so bright it could not be snuffed out by those who said it couldn’t be done.
Run on darling, until your broken heart has healed. For it takes time to find the pieces you let go of for so many years. To those you meet along the way I pray they understand you must run to find your strength and to become what you had planned.
I don’t trade in my dreams for love I don’t trade my dreams at all anymore
Gypsy hearts and flint stone sparks
Start fires they can’t contain
Leaving only blackened remains.
A warm breeze blows in tangled hair
It smells of summer nights, warm and fair
Whispering memories in her ear
Of lightening bugs and fishing bells jingling
Swing dancing and people singing
Guitar picking and fireside drinking
Sun-tanned skin and night’s cool wind.
You’re drinking in the whorehouse tonight. I’m writing poetry: whiskey words and tear stained ink. I’m a dumbass for thinking I deserve more than I need. But whose there to blame when it comes down to inked up words and whiskey tears spilling down my cheeks.
I’ve thought about calling you up, but I change my mind. We said our goodbyes and now is not the time. It’s lonely out here on these Wyoming plains, but I’m the one who ran so I’m the one to blame. Amidst missing you, I love it out here. I can only hope that one day it’ll be your truck that I hear; hell, I’d be content with your voice on the telephone. Just anything to know that I left a mark like the one you left on my heart.
Mountain heights and thin air climbs, but I breathe to fast and soar to high.