Tuesday, September 14, 2010


Storms never last, to day baby.
Bad times all pass, with the wind.
Your hand in mine, still the thunder.
You make the smile, want to shine.

You followed me.
Down so many roads, baby.
I’ve picked wild flowers.
And sung you soft sad songs.

And every road we took Lord knows.
Our search was for the truth.
And the clouds brewing now.
Won’t be the last.

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