Bait on the hook A curse on the town We laugh like coyotes And cry just like clowns It scrubs off of our fingers A little elbow grease and there it goes Bones in the garden Pitchfork in the hay Mice in the cupboard It’s written all…

What did we give away for the things we have? I don’t see any place I haven’t been before But the faces I hold in my mind when I’m drifting off to sleep Are as free as anything could be When all the dollar stores have vanished in the flood…

An older ebow piece with stuff added today.