Dead Authors

I read a lovely thing, a lone and distant ring. The words from a time when I was a boy and I drifted through the yards of the neighborhood. Where the lilac's bloomed and the family too a long time removed. It keeps me up at night wondering. It keeps me up at night in anger. Mommas gonna lose the home where we grew up and it breaks my heart. Daddy's not around but hell he never was worth his salt anyways. I'm a man right now, if I'm not I'll never be. It keeps me up at night wondering. It keeps me up at night in anger. I wish sometimes that dead authors could come back to life and tell me what to say. It keeps me up at night wondering what keeps you up at night.