W.A. Fite

W.A. Fite
Courtesy James Villa Photography 2012

Friday, January 28, 2011

Monday, January 10, 2011

Lyrics: Jack

Waters mix with the paint and brush. An orange fleck stroke makes your Granpa's hand rush.
People who wait, are the ones who mind. They mind their Mothers. They mind their hairlines.

Will you be just like me?
Resigned to draw your walls in colored streaks?
Should we keep the house unlocked when we leave?

Your Mother preens and primps the house. She wipes the tables, wipes your mouth.
The clothes have grown big, with closets small. The pets go wild waiting in the cramped hall.

Will you be just like me?
Restless at the age where most find peace?
A cold day in December, one marked in ink.

Son you'll see...I'll give you words to see.
That only brave men dine in the Captain's seat.

Will you be just like me?
Slow to write your numbers, slow to speak?
Should your Mother and I wait up till you sleep?

Son you'll see...I'll give you words to see.
That we're all tied bound to the Family Tree.