A Porch Swing's Tale

A Porch Swing's Tale The sun hangs low, a bruised peach in the sky my old boots are caked with the red dust of a journey I never started three This here porch swing rocks on, steady and slow but my soul feels like it's caught between the back porch and the front gate somewhere between a hello and a goodbye, a solid six And the cricket's song ain't a happy one, it's a lonesome, weary sigh I'm stuck in the middle, still waiting for the rain to wash the road clean This ain't a home, but it's not the open road either. It's just a place.