Hey Sweet Mary, life isn’t quite contrary.
Come with me to the purple mountain range
We’ll pick the first place nobody knows your name.
You can wash your daily troubles in the creek while the rest drift by.
Unnoticed, we will dance in the mud banks
to the songs of the dragonflies.
As wounds begin to heal,
you’ll tell time passed by the changes in the moon, setting suns
and the lines formed on my aging face.
Sometimes, when we need to eat,
we’ll stand in the town square and sell cheap words or words cheap.
At the end of the day, when other people are just trying to get home,
We’ll have made something else of our own.
We’ll be as free as a summer breeze and without completely understanding
live completely.
Then, the past will slip away without a sound and be replaced with sweet reality…
church bells ringing, laughter, and caged birds singing.
Sweet Mary life isn’t quite contrary.
Come with me and see.
Dixie's Road Trip 