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Gypsy Hymn

Pale and stormy autumn steals

on the afternoon before my way.

Blackbirds cross the empty fields,

flying low way down the long highway.

Smoke rises on a low sky.

The windows watch as I walk by.

Eyes grown tired of living

find themselves just wishing they could fly.

Withered stalks in rows of brown,

old soldiers who lost the fight to time,

stand and wait to be cut down,

obeying their orders with resign.

Naked trees stretch out their arms

to keep a favorite son from harm

but I'll leave their cold embrace

to find another some place that is warm.

I can't give you promises --

at least not any I could really keep.

I've got to be honest

as to that moving feeling in my feet.

If you'd know me at all

then you'd count the leaves that fall

because I get restless sitting

hearing that clock tock-ticking on the wall.

The wind blows out the moon and stars

of a night grown old before its time.

Thoughts of one woman on my heart --

I once sang her my rough lullaby --

they leave me wondering when

I'll see where the pavement ends.

Will I find the finish

to be the beginning once again?

The rough cut video was posted on YouTube on 10/22/09 - click here to watch that video. The title of the song in the video is Gypsy Hymn #117, and it has a few different words.

an acoustic guitar

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crossed guitars