Willie Short

The sun beats down on the freeway
Breeze barely crawls through the screen
And all I can see are the spaces
Left here by what might have been

You may not see me in Houston
If I'm who you come looking for
I'm not going to work in the morning
I ain't washing dishes no more

I never have claimed to be perfect
I haven't been so bad
And I can't count the days I'll be leaving
But I'm glad for the ones I've had

No one can take this heart from me
No one can scatter my soul
But it's hard, mister, dying by inches
From something I cannot control

So Lord, let me run in your meadows
Lord, let me sleep in your arms
And protect me from all of these people
Who think I am doing them harm

The living may claim we are different
But dying makes us all the same
So while you are here, don't forget me
From time to time, mention my name



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