I Love Country Music But What Happened

Crimson Flames Tied Through My Ears Rollin' High And Mighty Traps Pounced With Fire On Flaming Roads Using Ideas As My Maps "we'll Meet On Edges, Soon," Said I Proud 'neath Heated Brow. Ah, But I Was So Much Older Then, I'm Younger Than That Now. Half-wracked Prejudice Leaped Forth "rip Down All Hate," I Screamed Lies That Life Is Black And White Spoke From My Skull. I Dreamed Romantic Facts Of Musketeers Foundationed Deep, Somehow. Ah, But I Was So Much Older Then, I'm Younger Than That Now.

I Just Try To Understand That Tomorrow Is Another Day.

This Land Is Your Land And This Land Is My Land, Sure, But The World Is Run By Those That Never Listen To Music Anyway.

That's Another Way Of Writing A Song, Of Course. Just Talking To Somebody That Ain't There. That's The Best Way. That's The Truest Way. Then It Just Becomes A Question Of How Heroic Your Speech Is. To Me, It's Something To Strive After.

I Can Picture The Color Of The Song, Or The Shape Of It, Or Who It Is That I'm Trying To Appeal To, In The Song, And What I'm Trying To, Almost, Reinforce My Feelings For. And I Know That Sounds Sort Of Vague And Abstract, But I've Got A Handle On It When I'm Doing It.