Me and the trees, this long winter it seems
are a little less green now than we used to be.
are a little less green now than we used to be.
Horizons are calling, as distant as near.
The future is changing, as hazy as clear.
Wisdom, hard-battled, I've fought on to learn.
Through fires of my passions, so hot that they burn.
Blown 'way the smoke, so now I may see.
The past is the past and now I am free.
Through fires of my passions, so hot that they burn.
Blown 'way the smoke, so now I may see.
The past is the past and now I am free.
—
I’ve got post oak memories of a time long ago,
like the muddy brown Brazos white dusted with snow.
I’ve rambled and wandered so long I don’t know,
but I feel in my heart I’ve got places to go.
like the muddy brown Brazos white dusted with snow.
I’ve rambled and wandered so long I don’t know,
but I feel in my heart I’ve got places to go.
I feel in my soul I've got places to go.
—
Here's where I sit now and here's where I stand.
In any such case, still, a man's just a man.
I wander alone both by choice and by not.
Is the fish or the fisher the one who's been caught?
The sights I have captured in frames and in cards.
The memories I captured in smiles and scars.
Adventure awaits for as far as I'll roam,
though I long for a place that a man could call home.
—
I’ve got post oak memories of a time long ago
like the muddy brown Brazos white dusted with snow.
I’ve rambled and wandered so long I don’t know,
but I feel in my heart I’ve got places to go.
like the muddy brown Brazos white dusted with snow.
I’ve rambled and wandered so long I don’t know,
but I feel in my heart I’ve got places to go.
I feel in my soul I've got places to go.
*
What will I see next?
Where will I be?
Will I be there alone or have someone with me?
When will I stop it?
Where will I stay?
Am I on an adventure or running away?
—
My hatred, my anger, my grief, and my pride
are all washed away in the rivers of time.
They were my people and they were my friends
by the banks of the Brazos from start until end.
I may have wandered but the post oaks have not,
each one in their place still unmoved from it's spot.
The times are a-changing, the post oaks will not.
The past stays a teacher for those who'll be taught.
--
And when I start slowing; my star dulls its shine.
When I know I'm approaching the end of my time,
I'll wander once more till I come round again
and I'll sit by the Brazos when I reach my end.
By the muddy brown Brazos my journey shall end.
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