Worry is like a rocking chair, it is always in motion, but not going anywhere.

Whiskey flowers sway like a breath,
in the woods of our freedom they’ve stood to the test.
But you’ve fought a long time; some think it’s been too long.
But I dread this day ahead, oh I dread this day ahead.


I wouldn’t talk to you; you sat there wanting me to.
I wouldn’t listen to you, you dreamt I’d hear the truth.


The birds sing in a glorious fashion,
I move slow and talk fast as if to avoid what will happen.
But I’ve fought a long time, maybe it’s been too long.
Cause I dread this day ahead, oh I dread this day ahead.
Give me your tired, your poor. Your huddled masses.