swing low, sweet chariot.
coming forth to carry me home.
swing low, sweet chariot...
in your covered wagon.
with that soft ice that melts
upon your tongue
as you drink up my blood from
your cuts of heartbreak and hope.
swing low, sweet chariot.
rock forth on that hill
with the wagon wheels of your past
making its hard to pull forward.
carry me home
in that sack laden with rose petals
and troubles that you sing about
as you plant your watermelon seeds
and drink from the tin hands
of the scarecrow from your
cobwebbed soul.
swing low,
sweet chariot.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment