Sisters said come out tomorrow
Before the light fades away
Caught a flight the next morning
Bound for the Lone Star state
Skipped 385
just to work around the tolls
Found him lying on the bed
like a ship on the shoals
A thousand feet two hundred
Were his world those final days
Worn carpet paints the picture
Of his favorite chair to stay
Where he’d rest a tortured body
Scarred and marred from life’s war
I hope he found the reasons
He needed to reach for more
Saint Patrick’s Day
House is soon empty
So I keep his chair warm
Empty a glass of bourbon
And I begin to mourn
There’s nothing really real
No way that he is gone
Sisters and I
Are now the last ones
Saint Patrick’s Day
Thirteen hundred miles
In his old car
Taking it easy
Hopes she gets that far
Desert into plains
Through the forests and the shade
Through a world shutdown
Sick and afraid
Saint Patrick’s Day