Where the Woods Open

There's a path I always take down to the river where the woods are dressed down open The light of the sky doesn't shine in your eyes but leads the way to redemption   I like to stand there for a moment on the shortcut created by troubled feet woven with wilderness bliss and cigarettes butts It's a path that never sleeps   I see the same semi-blind vision of the river every time I hear baby boat horns blaring in the distance and floating out of view I walk to the rhythm of the trees the faint sound of Wild Thing playing in the car I carry a bent black rod with a tangled neon line and a mud-covered box of rusty hooks and flaming red bobbers I wear my T-Shirt that says Iron City Beer that's cut off at the belly or sometimes my other one that says Just Do It with shredded denim shorts that ride my buttocks   After a few seconds of inhaling and exhaling an indecision I do what most fishermen do with only my thoughts to keep me company I find a clean rock and cast with desperation The woods close