What do you know O child of clay of God & time? I’m sent
to the bent who’ll soon ignite like rags doused in turpentine
to unveil their worth before they alight
A boy cultivates sorrow in the bottle given to ease his stabbing spine
Despite his grave-bound trajectory a music’s arisen
so fine it brings him to the Nashville Opry
His every choice merges in disaster lets it spill
over those left to wait lets it fill
him with morphine & melancholy lets it kill
his marriage & disparage his skill
so his voice verges on breaking
I’m not taking away his claim
to have seen the light but when sorrow came
back in sight he cut himself off so lonesome he could die
When is time right for mercy O child of clay? I returned
what was left of Hank to Montgomery Don’t blame me
for cutting down the strong Thank me for waiting so long