Light up the woodpile

Unbutton your coat

Let the sweet memories

Burn in your throat

 

The sun has pickled

Our bodies again

Let's sing down the moon

And wait for the end

 

Come to me old washerwoman

Shake the dust off our old skin and bones

With hazy hands and calloused minds

We will rebel at the rest of our kind

 

Close off the lamplight

Stare at the stars

Nothing ever changes

From the hoods of our cars

 

Laughing away

Our troubles once more

Smiles make us mortal

And our spirits to soar

 

Come to me old washerwoman...

 

Naked walk like children

Dance down the hall

Leave the future lying

With the rest of it all

 

Point out the way

With lyric and poem

So far far away

We fly away home

 

Come to me old washerwoman...

 Copyright 2014 Jeremy Rodgers