(R.J. Johnson/Guiney/Reedy)Feel the glow from the lampshade, its the shadow that shows his ageHe's an old man with a weathered soul, who burned to live before he gotfar too oldhe tells stories to fill the spaceOnce he said, "it's so cold in early November... and all the sky and treesare a rust coloredGreyI know her eyes still smile when I bring her flowers... I took themyesterday"we put her down not long ago... close enough to keep something to hold,and far away from what she knew then...on further out he stands alone, by the only thing he seemsto call his ownhis eyes fill up againHe's an old man with a weathered soul who burned to live before he got fartoo oldhe tells stories to fill the spaceOnce he said, "it's so cold in early November... and all the sky and treesare a rust coloredGreyI know her eyes still smile when I bring her flowers... I took themyesterday"..gets farther on his own.. it's the only thing he still has to hold...he's got stories to fill thespaceNow he says... "it's still cold in earl November.. she keeps the skyand trees their rust colored GreyI know her eyes still smile when I bring her flowers, I took them yesterday."

 

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