Faking Dylan #17



All the old men died around

And left behind this little town

They’d built with bricks and two by fours

Workin’ late from early morn


Their women knew that they were lucky

To get a man so strong and plucky

They watched the good come through their door

And did not let it out no more


And now their sons have taken over

Walking barefoot through the clover

Don’t know a sycamore from birch

Play Stratocasters in the church


Their women know it ain’t the same

What once was bold has now gone lame

They wonder should they take the blame

For killing nature’s happy game


Their men can’t muster five push ups

Drive fifty-thousand-dollar trucks

And find their thrills on blue websites

And rob their girls of happy nights



It wasn’t their war and they ain’t fought it

Got it so bad they don’t know they’ve got it

They show their trinkets on their lawns

Don’t know what they once had is gone


They let things go, thinkin’ they’re so smart

While their whole world is torn apart

Their children don’t know up from down

They’ve left behind this little town



copyright 2017

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