I drove my truck to the valley with a forty
I found a little peace I found a little respite, as had many before me
And it’s in such an affection that I lay
And I thanked, habitually In particular, nobody
And I remember the family in a similar state speaking old words of past lovers that had let themselves go
Perhaps, only in that moment, I wished them well
Stirred sparrow storm Where are your keenest words? Where is your golden drum? Could there be a man less burdened that I, with my unscrupulous song?