Parson

Parson stranded on a dark road, bible strung over his shoulder.
Muddy boots, cares for laces up the back.
Remembering the play of light, shoulders to bite or kiss and say goodbye.

God, god is wasted. Far, far away my home.
Home is selfish tears.

Parson watching the moon, leaning on the fence.
bats chasing gnats, stockings roll down his mind.
Regretting... not really, corner turned to road less traveled.
Something else spills from his morning word.

God, god is wasted. Far, far away my home.
Home is selfish tears.

Parson walking into town, new streets to kiss with prayer.
A few belongings, a letter, a sleeve of lace.
Eyes follow him and he returns a smile, some hollow need that keeps returning.
Lord of kindness guides his hand.

God, god is wasted. Far, far away my home.
Home is selfish tears.

Parson walking into town...

(words and music by Bruce 2003, written and first recording in Suquamish, WA
Additional tracks and remastering 2015)