Willie Short

The sun beats down on the freeway

Breeze barely crawls through the screen

And all I can see are the spaces

Left here by what might have been

You may not see me in Houston

If I'm who you come looking for

I'm not going to work in the morning

I ain't washing dishes no more

I never have claimed to be perfect

I haven't been so bad

And I can't count the days I'll be leaving

But I'm glad for the ones I've had

No one can take this heart from me

No one can scatter my soul

But it's hard, mister, dying by inches

From something I cannot control

So Lord, let me run in your meadows

Lord, let me sleep in your arms

And protect me from all of these people

Who think I am doing them harm

The living may claim we are different

But dying makes us all the same

So while you are here, don't forget me

From time to time, mention my name