Three Shots of Soul

Here we go again. More expermenting with poems or songs. Take your pick. Blue Merle's been the only thing that has hit my speakers all day, so I have to say thank you to those boys for helping me collaborate heart today. Really I have to say thank you to them for carrying me through the last few days. Musically they've been a strong crutch for me to lean my worn-down bones on. Songs like "Lucky to Know You" "Made to Run" "Places" "Part of Your History" and "Bittersweet Memory" have really been keeping the loose ends of my unraveling heart tied together. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, I literally feel pity for you. I mean, I just feel bad that you're missing out on this music. Find a way to get some of their stuff. I don't care if you have to rob Best Buy because your broke. Best Buy is a fortune 500 company; they'll be fine. And you'll benefit because you got great music. Plus, you'll be able to tell people you stole and that's good for the street cred. And I know about street cred. Trust me.

I want to give you a heads up on some of this soul I've been scratching down the last couple days. I know I use "whiskey" in some of them. Don't worry, this isn't because I've become a raging alcoholic. It's just a strong symbol I'm using to reinforce a theme. This is not to say some whiskey has not been downed while chasing down these ideas. But I assure that this was done solely for literary purposes. Anyway, leave me some love. Let me what you know what you think about these cups I'm serving up. If you like the poem/song things- tell me. If you like the longer, commentary/thought-provoking pieces- tell me. If you like them both- share the good news. Just be honest. If something sucks, then tell me. I want to give the people what they want.


Busted Knees

In the lonely wilderness of my weary heart
I wait like wild, running waters for You.
In what secret place will we wrestle today?
In what great hour might we dance?
In what quiet moment might You come?
On what horizon might Your glory rise?
Will it be the East?
The West?
Where should I place my sleeping eyes?
In the colors of the sun?
In the shadows of the moon?

My heart is beating.
Yes, my heart is beating-
Banging in my chest
like wild, reckless drums.
It burns at a fever for
Your sweet company.

Satisfy it's deep, deep desire.
It begs.
It groans.
It bleeds.
For You.
For Love.
For Glory.

When will you come?
When will we feast?
Until you show
I will hope.
No!-
I will beg!
on bended.
busted.
knees.


Casualty

Saturday night comes quick again
fading faster into early morning.
My head is spinning something sad-
Too much whiskey kissing.

I'm back alone
some place far from friends
Without a melody to sing
or story to share.

Flat on my back
Down in the valley
Tracing white stars
Against the black
With dirty hands.

I trace your pretty face-
Laughing like a child
fooling in a sandbox.
Dancing like a daughter
on her daddys' toes.
My hands make me an artist-
Drawing beauty
up out of nothing.
Or does that make me God?

Not God.
God wouldn't bury his soul
in sour-eyed shots of whiskey.
God's no damned fool.
No broken-hearted bum.

My phone rings round.
I wonder at it drunk too long
As your name lights the screen
I miss the call
Leaving you to telephone wires.

Crying time away.
Teardrops fall
to the cold concrete
around my feet.

Now I'm dead drunk
Walking backwards
into whitewased walls.
Drawing circles with my eyes
around burning stars
that blink like you.

Kiss it to my lips one last time
And just like that
The good whiskey's gone empty.
And just like that
And just like you
I've lost another
good, good friend.

Yeah, I lost my friend
Gotta go bury my friend
God, I miss my friend
Nobody needs to bury a friend
Nobody needs a dead friend
Oh God, give me back my friend
Please give me back my friend.


Crawling On

He sits in quiet, secluded places
Sipping whiskey to keep warm from the morning cold.
He eats his breakfast from the bottom of the bottle
To help him wake from another war-torn night.

His nights are restless as a hurricane
And his days are beaten by the sun.
His skin is burned from unforgiving heat
And his feet are blistered from weak, worn-down soles.

He is beatdown.
Ruined.
Busted up.
Broken.

He spends what time he has
crawling through the carnage of creation.
He has little strength to walk
so his face has become stained by ground.

He wrestles on, like a soldier through bloody trenches
Gnashing his blood-stained teeth
As he moves his mangaled arms
across the rough skin of the Earth.

Every moment aches with strain.
He growls and groans
Like the rumbling bowels of an earthquake.
Like the day,
He is coming closer to his death.

Soldier keeps crawling on
Stopping just to sip his whiskey
On his way to the top
of this Great Hill.

He keeps carving trails.
Breaking bones.
Blazing paths.
Wrestling.
Fighting.
Sweating.
Crawling on towards You.

Wedding Bells

Come Close. Come close, good friend, and listen to the story. Brother Jesus just struck a chord in my heart and it’s ringing louder than wedding bells. It’s a beautiful sound, really. Rushing madly through the worn-down roads and beat-down canyons of my rugged heart like the wild waters of the Colorado through the skin of the Earth. I can’t describe to you the sound and do it enough justice. My words would only rob it of its great wonder. I can only tell you that it feels amazing to have something this good breaking out in my wicked heart. I can only hope and beg God that He’ll send something this good through the hearts of the rest of my brothers and sisters, scattered out about the world, like misguided ants. I beg for you all everyday.

Today we’re in Ezekiel, so if you’ve got a Bible- get it. If it’s under a pile of old clothes, somewhere in the back of your closet- open the door and dig it out. If you lost it, threw it away, never had one to begin with- go ask the neighbors. I really want you to see this. I want you to see the greatness of our God in the perfect cursive of the Truth. Let’s go.

A little background on our boy Zeke before I take you where I want. Ezekiel is probably my favorite book in the Bible. For numerous reasons really, but that’s neither here nor there. It has always hit my heart hard, but now, as I wrestle through it a new time, it is hitting me harder than it ever has before. Like a baseball bat straight to my chest. Like a car crash. A head-on collision. Zekes’ rap sheet looks like this: He’s a priest, living among the exiled Israelites. There ya go. That’s Ezekiel. Pretty normal guy who God decides to make one of the most extreme, most radical prophets of the Old Testament. I won’t take you all the way through Ch. 1 and Ch.2 cause I want to get you to Ch. 3 before I bore you to death, even though the first two chapters are incredible. Here, I’ll fill you the best I can. Hopefully I don’t scribble outside the lines too much, though I’m like a three year old with a crayon when I write. God’s glory shows up out in the desert where Zeke lives. Zeke describes the glory of God best he can, but we find that it’s no easy task to paint a coherent picture of Gods’ great blaze. Ezekiel sees the glory of God raining down from the sky, worse than any thunderstorm in the history of the world, and he ends up flat on his face. Facedown. Blocking out the brightness with his arms because they didn’t have sunglasses then. He’s humbled by the radiance. He relates it to a “rainbow in the clouds on a rainy day” (1:28). Says it sounds like “the roar of rushing waters or the tumult of an army” (1:24). It’s “shining like an awe-inspiring crystal” (1:22). “Flashing bolts of lighting in the midst of fire” (1:4). There is too much glory for Ezekiel to handle so he falls down on his face. Down in the dirt because he knows that’s where he belongs next to something this marvelous. That’s chapter one. I think it’s incredibly too cool, but I’m also incredibly too much of a nerd. Whatev.

Let’s roll onto chapter two. In chapter two a voice speaks to Ezekiel. I love seeing Ezekiel 2:2. I love what it says: “As he spoke to me, the Spirit entered into me and set me on my feet.” Ezekiel cannot get up on his own. He’s too impressed. Too humbled. So the Spirit has to come get in him and give him the strength to get back on his feet. I just think that’s a great picture of our weakness as humans before the greatness of God. It cripples us so much that we cannot function without the intervention of the Spirit. We are totally incapable of anything without the help of the Spirit. The feeble bones of our little bodies are just too weak on their own. They need the Spirit. Anyway, onward Christian soldiers. So this voice is speaking to Zeke, right? Great. Well, what’s it saying to him? I love what God tells Ezekiel to do. It’s great. He says “Zeke, son of man, go to the people of Israel and warn them I’m coming. Tell them. Tell them I said it. That I, the LORD, with capital letters, said it. But they won’t listen. Not to you. They’re stubborn and rebellious. They will refuse to listen to anything you say. They’re a rebellious house. But you’re going to them anyway. You, Ezekiel, son of man, are going regardless of this. And they will know that a prophet as been among them because of this.” So, basically, in other words, God is sending Ezekiel on a suicide mission. If you read on you see that God causes Ezekiel to do some pretty radical stuff. Hilarious stuff. Ridiculous stuff. Anyway, back in chapter two, before that stuff, God is getting Ezekiel ready. God feeds Zeke some truth and fills his belly with a scroll of things to say that Ezekiel says tastes “sweet as honey “ (3:3) I LOVE that. Sweet as honey. The word of God is sweet as honey. Truth is sweet as honey. Incredible. The beginning of chapter three God spends time reinforcing the fact that these people will not listen to Ezekiel, that Ezekiel better not be scared because God’s with him, and that God is going to be the one speaking through him, whispering the right words in his ear. God sets this monstrous mountain in front of Ezekiel and says “climb.“ God tells Ezekiel to climb and lose his life for Glory. God says obey. Then there’s 3:14. And that is where we will camp out for awhile.

“Then the Spirit lifted me up and took me away, and I went in bitterness in the heat of my spirit, the hand of the Lord being strong upon me.”

That’s what 3:14 says in the ESV. The NIV says that Ezekiel went in bitterness and in the anger of his spirit. The Message says that he goes bitterly and angrily. It says that he “didn’t want to go, but God had him in his grip.” Ezekiel had no choice. Regardless of the how he felt, God had him in His grip. Ezekiel was going up this mountain whether he liked it or not. I think this is a great encouragement to us. At least it is to me. I hope it is to you. Bottom line is: God’s doing things. Some things we like, some things we hate. We have a mountain in front of us and He is calling us to climb. Up to the top. Out of rock bottom. Out of the valley. He is calling us to climb towards obedience. It doesn’t matter how we start the ascent up. It doesn’t matter our attitude, how we feel, or what kind of emotion we’re riding. Ten times out of ten, when God calls you to obey, He’s calling you to bleed. He’s calling you to change things. To move. Break a bone. Get messy. He is bringing you into a very, very dangerous place. Let’s be honest here. Do you really expect to climb into a place like that smiling? High-fiving God? Being happy? Please. Give me a break. Even Jesus wasn’t happy about going to the Cross. The night before Jesus was begging God for another way. He was troubled. He had emotions and He was riding them. Even into that climb. But God didn’t let go of Him. He held on. He had Jesus in His grip. He had plans and wasn’t going to change them. Just like He did with Zeke. Just like He does with us. I’m not telling you to be angry at God about obedience, about climbing. I’m just telling you that it’s okay if you are. God is not going to let go of you. What’s great about the whole thing is you really don’t have a choice in it. The Spirit is the one lifting you up. Taking you away. Forcing you to go. Compelling you into action. Even if you are frustrated. Angry. Annoyed. Unwilling. Wrestling. You are going whether you like it or not. Even if your legs are broken, God is calling you to climb. He’s calling you because it brings Him glory and he’ll do whatever it costs to get Him more of that. Even making you a little angry or bitter. What matters is that you let the Spirit take you, even if you don’t want to go up the hill. It sucks; I’ll tell you, it sucks. The Hill is hard. It hurts a whole helluva lot. Death is breathing heavy on my back. I’m hurting. My bones are broken something bad. And I’m not happy about it. But I want God to get His share. His glory. I want Him to get more of Him. Even if it means me hurting. Even if it means me bleeding a little. That’s why Ezekiel went to a rebellious people who weren’t going to listen. That’s why Jesus manned up and got on the Cross. For Glory. For More of Him and less of themselves. This is our spiritual climb, friends: To die and let God live. Just go. Come on. Get up that hill. Be angry. Be happy. It doesn’t matter, just keep climbing. Crawl if you have to. I want to encourage you. The hand of the Lord is on you. He’s not going to let go. If He lets go, He lets go of His glory. God will not let go of His glory. You are His glory. He’s going to get you to the top. It’s the one thing I can promise you, other than the road there will suck. Beg Him to help you get there. You cannot do this thing alone. We need His Spirit to sherpa us up our Everest. You don’t need your friends. You don’t need cheap, watered-down answers. You don’t need churchy people telling you churchy things. You don’t need lies. You don’t need magic books with magic answers. That junk will weigh you down. You need truth. You need to strap your boots up. Stare the junk in your heart down. You need to be pushed. You need to get up. You need to stand your ground and fight, damnit! You need to grow a pair. God will not let you go.

Look, I thought all this was a stupid idea. I wanted nothing to be apart of what God wanted to do with me. I honestly did not want my obedience to be this way. I didn’t like the idea of me having to die and having very important parts of me die too. But the Spirit over took me. I got hungry for the glory of God. Now I beg for death. Now I beg for His glory. It’s hard, believe me. But if you love Jesus, I mean really, wildly love Him this is what’s commanded of you. Death is demanded of you if you love Jesus like He’s commanded you too. If you aren’t climbing, not obeying God to the point of blood and sweat, then you’re telling the rest of the world that Jesus is just some guy. Some madman who helped people once. Your blood, sweat, and tears scream Savior of the World. King of Glory. Beautiful One. Good Friend. Your lack of it shuts those screams up. Screams the opposite. Do you love Jesus enough to let your world crumble? Will you show the world that? Your friends? Your parents? Do you love Him enough to lose it all? Or is He just some nice guy who should get lip service and a dollar on Sunday morning?

God’s going to keep hijacking your heart and moving you up this hill. He keeps doing it with me. He’ll do it with you. My heart is still bitter. I’ve lost precious things to me. But He wants His glory. And so do I. Losing these things is totally worth it, if God gets his glory. Beyond worth it. He keeps initiating me. Making me hungry. Miserable outside His presence. Making me groan for it with a bloody heart. Forcing me to come to life. He is the one making the pen move. I’m only writing what He’s whispering in my ear. I’m just the middle man. We’re all just the middle man. The intermediates bridging God back to His glory. He is taking us away. Wrapping us up in the unflinching grip of His Good Spirit. He refuses to let go of us no matter how bitter we get or how much we hurt and sweat. Our hurt and sweat increases His name and glory. Ache for your hurt and sweat, lest God not become more famous. Chase, climb, crawl towards those things. Yes, God most definitely loves us. Cherishes us as orphaned children. He’s concerned with us but only because He’s concerned with Himself. He loves our broken hearts so much only because He loves how He can mend them back together so much more. We can be angry as much as we want, shake our fists and scream till we lose our voice, but it wont matter- it won’t change this beautiful truth about God. He’ll keep holding us. Bringing us in tight. Wrapping us up in warm blankets. Hugging us. He’ll keep inspiring us to get up and go. Stand our ground and fight. Climb or crawl. As long as we’re breathing, we need to be begging God to make us breathe His glory. The Spirit is lifting us up and taking us away, even in the heat of our bitter skin. His mighty hand is strong up on us, causing us to climb. It’s never going to let go. We’ll be dragged, kicking and screaming, all the way to the top. He’s breathing life into dying bones. Fashioning beautiful, pure women. Molding rugged, passionate men. He’s recreating His children. Making them better. Replacing old ashes with radiant beauty. And He will not let go. Ever.

Getting Naked

I fear the reason that most people who claim they're in love with Jesus aren't loving Him madly, is because they aren't being honest with Him. We're all afraid to approach Our Brother with a raw and bleeding heart. We try to bandage it up. Wrap it in old, reused band-aids. Hide all the ugly parts with different shades of storebrand make-up. We don't even bother trying to use the expensive stuff. I fear the lot of us are just cheap products of manufactured faith. We're putting on beauty padgets for God. We're all ugly people, trying to make ourselves beautiful for a God who doesn't care how we look. I think He'd rather us look like crap than some carbon-copied cutout from a magazine. I think we've been fashioned into cowards who are just down right afraid to face God with an honest heart. We aren't praying honest things. We're lip sincing songs we don't even like. It's terrible. God wants us to tell Him the truth just as much as we want Him to give it to us. We, dear brothers and sweet sisters, cannot grow in the Good Spirit if we are not willing to bear it all and get naked. We have to get honest with Holiness. Real spiritual growth cannot occur until you are ready to be real. Spill your secrets. Speak a word from the bottom of your broken soul. Rip off your clothes.

When I get pissed at God, I let the Old Man hear it. Probably too much. I tell God all the time that I don't like what He's doing, that He's rubbing my heart the wrong way, rocking my little boat too much. I challange Him to fights all the time. I've spent a lot of my faith in Christ with my fists clinched, ready to throw a right hook when He's not looking. He's always looking though. It sucks. I'm more bold with God than I am with human beings. I know I get like this because I'm not thirsty enough for His glory yet. I am getting there though. I'm telling you all this because, despite this desire I have to duke it out with God, He still wildly desires me. God refuses to let go of me. He just won't do it. I've wanted to bail out on God so many times. So many times. I've wanted to taste the world, see what other flavors are out there. I've asked God countless times to let me, to just let me go. But he doesn't. In fact, I think He grips me a little tighter. The Man refuses to give up on me. So I don't know why we've all gotten so afraid to let God hear it. He wants to hear our groans. He is dying to hear the parts of us that hurt. God wants us communicating with Him all the time, even when he's throwing thorns are way to shake us up. These days it seems like Big G keeps sending F5 tornadoes right down the alley way of my little heart. Everything has been ripped to shreads in there. I really need Bush to call for a state of emergency on it. I'm very hurt and I'm very beat up. And I don't like it. I'm not happy about dying. And dying is exactly what's happening here. Don't think I'm exaggerating. God is killing me because He wants nothing of me to remain. He wants more of Him and less of me. That only happens if I die. Completely. Totally. Dramatically. I let God hear about the pain of this all the time. I nag and pull on His arms like a little kid crying out to his mommy because he lost his favorite toy. I'm constantly praying, begging God to let me into His presence. It's the only place I don't feel miserable. Occassionally a cuss word will fly. Even two or three. I'm real with the Man. Raw, like unprocessed meats. I don't hide myself behind a thin sheet of fake smiles and cheap, churchy lies. And I'll tell you this: God's not surprised. You're not shooting off Gods' wheels when you get honest with Him. He doesn't pull His hair and panic. He doesn't get flustered and lose control. He's waiting for it. After all, He's the one doing this to me. He's the one ripping me so He can get more glory. I say we wrestle, wrestle on.

You are nothing but a waste if you are not bringing honesty to the altar of God. You are a collapsed lung without a breath to breathe. God wants you, not a maniquin. He doesn't want some processed person who's been shoved through some shady system that spits out some manufactured product that's been stamped with some faulty seal of approval. He wants His little girl. His little boy. His beautiful, broken daughter. His rugged, ruined son. He wants courage. He wants sacrifice. He wants to crown you with beauty. Take away all the ashes. He wants a face-off. A cold staredown. We're all told to tip our hats, bite our quivered lips, and smile when the shit hits the fan, when the heart breaks down. I say screw that. I suggest we wrestle with it. That's why it's there. We submit to God's glory and we wrestle with it. That's obedience. Obedience is not high-fiving something we hate- it's punching it in the face. It's taking punches just as much as it is dishing them out. Did you really expect to hand your life over to God and not bleed a little? The spilling of blood is absolutely necessary. We gain nothing for God if we don't bleed. Obeying God is a call to broken bones and stitches, black eyes and bruises. God isn't going to wreck us if it's not going to get Him more glory. Everything God does do us, whether disaster or dance, is done to make His glory greater. Every little, insignificant moment of our lives is God belittling and defaming our name, and making His bigger and more famous. God's not experimenting on us. He knows exactly what He's doing. And He wants you to be real with Him while He does it. Fix your eyes on His glory. Beg God to make little of you and more of Him. Become a beatdown, broken-hearted, bleeding beggar. This is how we have to point our feet. This is how we have to approach the throne of our Great God. Just get real with Him. Don't be afraid to stare this junk down. Get to the root of your hurting, wretched heart with Him. Your broken heart cannot be mended until you're ready to get honest. To be exposed. Until that, until you're real, everything you say or do is just a bunch of interference. It's noise breaking up the harmony of the Trinity. It's adding to the chaos that's confusing the connection. Your honesty with eventually lead to the refusion of that Great harmony. It is the blood behind the heartbeat. How great is our God that we can bring a real and broken heart before Him! How great is our God that He doesn't require us to wear makeup! I hate makeup. How great that we can be bold, honest, cuss in a prayer, and throw a punch before Him.

Your honesty will not fix things though. Don't think that for a second. It will only propell you onto the next phase, towards the next step up our mountain. Nothing gets easier. In fact, honestly, it all gets harder from here. A lot harder. Things have to change. More things break. With every step you take up the Great Hill, onwards towards the top, the more of you will die. Eventually, all of you will die- every bit- and all that will remain will be the Great Glory of our Great God. If we don't make His glory our only focus, we will lose our footing and fall. We will stand on cliffs and contemplate jumping back down.

God is breaking us. Pissing us off. Shaking things up. Bringing us to blood and tears. Into a brutal, brutal boxing match where we leave in bodybag. And He's doing it so He can win. He's doing it for Himself. For His Glory. His Story. His Fame. And he'll lead us into all these horrible heartaches just so he can come show up and rescue us. So he can rescue His beautiful, beautiful daughter. So that he can redeem his baby-eyed boys. He will not leave us stranded. He will not leave us orphaned. He's coming back for us. Nothing, none of this is about us though. He's lessing us for more of Him. He will only rescue us so we will exhalt His name. We are nothing but ways and means to more of His glory. Period. We are bridges between God and more glory. He'll do whatever it takes to get to more of Himself. Even if that means ruining us. Have hope in that ruining though, because whatever God ruins, He rescues. He has promised that. Proved it time and time again in scripture. Hold Him to it. Remind Him. Tug on His arms like that crying kid. I have to believe God will come through, that He'll follow through with His promises. I have to believe that God is in the buisness of rebuilding the things that he breaks. I have to bank all of my stock in that one truth about Him. I have to hope, that whenever He wants, He's going to get me the hell out of the desert. That's He's going to get me to the top of this Everest we're on. I have to trust that he'll get me through every avalanche along the way. I have to trust that He's helping me. Carrying me. Encouraging me. Getting me closer. Covering me with grace. Making me a man. I have to believe he'll be pleased with both my broken legs when I finally make to the summit. That he'll be happy with all the wounds I'm wearing. That love will blossom between us, bold and bright, like a red rose alone in white snow. I have to believe that I'll make it to the top, that all my friends will be there too. And that at the top, after all is said and done, I'll smile again, I'll rest and laugh deeply with the Trinity. Maybe even with my dear brothers and sisters. I suppose though it won't matter who I'm laughing with then, only that I'm laughing. I hope He'll be happy with my honestly then. I hope, more than anything, he'll be happy with my heart.

I hope I find you climbing along the way. I hope you get to the top with me. I hope we make it together. I hope you're not afraid. I hope you beg for courage. I hope you beg for broken legs. I hope you crawl if you have to. Don't bail out. Please. Please climb. Please climb on.

Pen+Paper+Ryan Adams+Beer= This Crap

I don't really know what I want to call these yet. Crap I guess. Songs of some sort I think. Of course they still need work , a better voice than mine, and someone who can play guitar. Maybe a harmonica too. Yes, definitely a harmonica. There really isn't any story behind them. Well, there is but I don't want to tell you. I probably shouldn't be putting these up here. It's embarassing. I don't really know why I am. I guess I just felt compelled. I got a letter in the mail yesterday from my blog. It told me it was lonely and wanted to hang out sometime soon. It struck a nerve. I'm a sensitive man.

Ryan Adams has been running on a loop out my speakers and I've been sipping slowly on some Shiners for the last couple of hours. My pen and paper got too friendly in the process. This is what they made.


Landlocked

It's 2AM
the bar is closing down
doing murder to my soul.
I finish off my final beer
and tip the man goodnight.

I stumble out old wooden doors
onto a quiet, unlit street.
I can smell the salt of
the sea rolling into shore
on whitewashed waves.

I walk on barefoot to the beach-
left my shoes back at the bar again.
I feel the sand beneath my naked feet
and rub the rough grains between my toes.

I watch the waves and wonder
why they keep coming back.
"If I were yal I'd stay away forever"
I say out loud like they're listening.

I stand quietly,
Hands in empty pockets
Waiting with patience
for some response.

They answer back-
"Tide wont let us go, kid.
Just aint strong enough
to break that pull."

I smile politely
stand tall and breathe
feet still landlocked in the the sand

"Yeah," I say, "Me either..."



Beggars Wish

Man's a brokedown beggar
Man's a punch-drunk poet
Man's a love-sick boy
Pourin' outta lonely bars
Onto empty streets
In some strange place
that he don't belong.

"Man's a foreigner
without his friends,"
Man says as he stumbles
over two drunk feet.

He wishes he was the wind
weeping hard through
all the willow trees.
He'd blow his way across
the sea on a sailors' sail
Across the sky on some kids' kite.

He'll hitch a ride on the high hills
and blow his way back to you
Cause the wind aint the wind
Without you, my friend.

He'd touch your pretty face
Soft and quiet but not to bother
Just long enough to remember.
Then he'd blow back on his lonely way

But this will have to stay
a beggars wish
cause he aint the wind
and he aint got no friend

Man's just a brokedown
A beatdown
A broken-hearted
A beggar

Yeah, without his friend
Man's just a beggar