The song in his hand is nearly his last one
There's room for a righteous man, dead, on his throne
He holds, too, a candle
He'll wait for the light to land on something he's made
Or burn up his hand, and burn up the place
One old reaper, one yellow Charolais
One spring, one old coyote, and still
One songbird, weary the rain, who lights on my windowsill
Cannot trust, as the candle's defined him
In rest for a righteous man, surely alone
In light that'll bend and color him, then
Some lightning, some flooding in town
Some hail, wrecking the cane
Some storm cloud that reached o'er the land, in morning, was gone again
This elder brother had a hide of stone
Turned to preaching despite his disposition
His little brother, favored second son
Of an Ulster Irishman
One ordinary weekend, 1991
Had lit out drinking on a canyon run
Mirro canteen of Tokay wine, he left the road
And took out a dozen junipers or so
In his blue Eldorado, eight months behind
First Bank of Goodnight
The old boy died just as he hit the bottom
Blood in his eyes, or red dashboard lights
Llano Estacado, a sinking down
As like as not
Beloved Son, Volunteer Fireman
The blood in his eyes, the red dashboard lights
This elder brother made the drive alone
Came up through Sweetwater from San Antone
His Scofield bible’s golden pages shone
Like a pearl-handled gun
Not long after the rail came the town went all to hell
Not long after, the rains came and swole the town’s empty well
Long after this man hadn’t anybody else
He believed her, received her
Long after the mail came we found him by hisself
Not long after, the river washed his place all to hell
Long afterward, there stood a willow, carved and bent
Deceiver
Till they came with a writ
They came with a backhoe
Come summer, son
You won’t know this was anyone’s
He stares down the road as she floats
Like a pink bubble
From the stoop of the world she chose
And the weeping willow
She planted the spring it rained
Now, down it bows
'Neath the wind’s weight
And the sound it makes
Changes everything
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