Cold and dead and rotting away –
best believe this is the Ohioan way.
Spring just isn’t sing at the moment, a
statement hitting home in the rain. I’m
walking along, and I’m singing a song, as I
try to keep my head held high again.
Home appears so severely far away, as I’m
trekking down the road in the rain. With my
glasses so wet, and yes I do suspect that my
my feet will drown in waters just the same. In some
worn out boots I received last fall, I tread
worn out routes one-hundred times I saw, in the
rain, in the grey… on a darker day. Might be
cold, but not dead… or rotting away.