Last Words
It’s hard to get with
Things that I forget
So I decide to call it quits
Because of a lack of wit
But to forget what’s forgotten
Like memories of picking cotton
Does nothing but show us
A mind that’s rotten
With the strength of oxen
With Flintstones rocking’
But as my strength is drained
I hear heaven a knocking’
Knocking’ on the door
Of those rich and poor
So I prepare myself
To go where I have never gone before
Wanting to tell you more
About the days of yore
Time for me to go
Heaven’s knocking on my door.
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