Two children playing on a dusty road, Hide from the fire of the summer sun, In the shade of the old Bois d'arc.
Days when we first held hands, Days of the locust's call. Until the children's games came to an end. Until they tore us apart.
Why can't they leave us alone? Why can't they see things our way? We ain't done nothing wrong. Before the darkness comes.
Every night I have the very same dream, I hear the lonesome whistle blow, I always wake up when I hear the scream, Somebody that I used to know.
Well the rain is falling harder than a bullet, And the Hound dog barking getting closer all the time. Lightning flashing make the water shine. Water's cold and the current is pulling, I'm swimming in the middle of a pitch black stream. My body's getting tired and my spirit's getting weaker.
Somewhere in the distance I can hear the scream. More from Zachary Richard