Greyhound

The wind has a way,
Of taking what’s special to me.
And all things must go as they come,
So I cannot just give them up.
Now that the light in your eyes lives in frames,
And the home that you built,
Will eventually fade.
I guess that there’s nothing to say,
I guess that there’s nothing to say.
Inclement weather ain’t friendly to me,
'Cause I’m a collection of you lost at sea.
I shiver at the the thought of the winter again,
But there’s always a grey sky,
Right around the bend.
The wind has a way,
Of taking what’s special to me.
But all that once made you a man,
Is living through us once again.
Now that the well that the dirt has run dry,
The sound of your gun at your funeral cries.
I guess that there’s nothing to say,
I guess that there’s nothing to say.
Inclement weather ain’t friendly to me,
'Cause I’m a collection of you lost at sea.
I shiver at the the thought of the winter again,
But there’s always a grey sky,
Right around the bend.