Tracylee

If there’s more to say, your ma’s no harm, welcomes me anyway, trees and yellow roads, fresh linen and thorns, we enact the County code, it’s harvest time and hay, I'm lucky to be born, when a life is saved, you move such big loads, down fields of corn, fresh as I’ve seen anyone, your mother gyrates, within a gathering storm, understands your greatness, brings me wine and Coke, a summertime sojourn, we dance alone, on fine blue mornings.