Laying in his bed and dying,
his momma called him home.
Did he see the dark star crash?
If you look out of any window,
you might see the dark star crash.
Like a whiskey drunk china cat,
with no more songs to sing,
like a Candyman come and gone again…
Was he right, is he better off dead?
Life is sweeter for sure,
even if the music burned off both my ears,
and left me composing lonesome blues,
to the tune of nothing left to do,
but smile, smile smile.
In Memory of Robert Hunter