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