That river wound and wound around my sleepy town.
It stumbled down a dam and made an ancient sound.
I see it when I’m sleeping and I hear it when I sing,
And it wanders as it washes everything.
Everything. Washes everything.
The bar still sells the “daily shake” and salty things.
But the conversation comes from what the cable brings.
I feel a little prodigal, I feel a little torn,
Like a stranger in the town where I was born.
Where I was born. The town where I was born.
The graveyard empties out and fills my memories
With Easter Bells and diesel smells and bloody knees.
I know that I was young once and I know this place was real,
But I don’t know how to feel the way I feel.
The way I feel. Feel the way I feel.
The home where I grew up is up for sale again.
And the mound out in the backyard is up to twenty-seven inches.
They chain-sawed that old oak tree and it wasn’t even dead.
All filled up with every crazy thing I said.
I ever said. Every crazy thing I ever said.
That river wound and wound around my sleepy town.
It stumbled down a dam and made an ancient sound.
I see it when I’m sleeping and I hear it when I sing,
And it wanders as it washes everything.
Everything. Washes everything.
Wanders as it washes everything.
Appears On:
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© and ℗ 2008, 2012 Marques Bovre