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Stones of Salt
March 25, 2008
They don't believe me, Mama.
They say I'm crazy.
They say the sun I see shining through the river painted clouds ain't there.
They say you don't exist no more.
But, you're sitting there,
Thinking.
Looking at my gravestone,
Weeping.
They say I'm crazy 'cause I feel your hand stop the salt from dripping on the grass.
They tell me it's my hand, Mama,
Hiding the tears from you.
It don't make no sense
While I'm sitting here,
Thinking.
Looking at your gravestone,
Weeping.
They don't believe me, Mama.
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