chapel hill
when the waves have started to crumble and the
mountains smooth and die take me where the road
is humble where the oldest men have died.
and i'll lay and make my bed there midst the beat
and treaded raods midst the memories of the dead
there stronger now and lonesome cold.
for i ask for not a second with a comfort in my
chest instead one million years of wondering
till i reach my final rest.
every kid must ask the question why do all our
heros die. did they live to wake in the morning or
live to sing under golden skies.