When I was born, they said I could've died. My father did weep and my mother, she cried. Although my lungs were withered inside, a two pound boy was alive. Many months later, I was taken home to a nice little house, where I mended my bones. I would sit in the tree that once bordered the road; watched the world as it turned so slow. Once, I was seven, we packed up our things and moved to PA, where the setting sun brings the beauty of life to the valleys and springs and the sound of the partridge does ring. As I grew older, my life doubled in size- the tops of the hills arched their backs toward the skies. 'Cause nature, you know, does sink and does rise, like the ocean, so old and so wise. I remember when I played my first show. The music pulsated with those in the front row, sprinkling the air as the clouds hung so low in the year, a year or so. Sometimes when I lie, awake late at night, I watch the shadows that trickle from the house light. The patterns move slow like those born without sight; when you sleep, your life seems so bright. Now that I've grown up, I'll soon leave my home and pack up the pictures of the ones I did know. I'll never forget all the places I roamed; Pennsylvania, the love you have shown. I do not know if God is real or a lie, but oh well, I thank God I'm alive.
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