My brother is my friend
we mix our magic potions
we sit upon the roof
and drink the sun away
He marches through the fields
he paints the family portrait
there by the wagon wheel
he falls asleep in clover
And when our father died
he sat down in the pantry
He hung his head and cried
until his eyes were empty
My sister is my friend
we walk through marshy meadows
we reminisce and then
she makes off with her shadow
She has a yellow bike
she rides it to the market
Her son, he runs behind
"Be quick, it's nearly Sabbath"
We used to spin in fields
until we'd both fall down with laughter
I thought then to myself
we made the world spin faster
My mother is my friend
she prays for me to Jesus
I do not think he hears
but still sometimes I say "amen"
My daughter is my friend
although I seldom see her
Like me, she's very strange
I'm glad she wears the family name
I go back to my home
a little shack on down the trail
I blow each candle out
and wait for sunlight coming
My lover is my friend
she gives me velvet midnight
We walk off in the sun
they say it's hard to find us
A true hidden treasure of a song writer. This gent has been capturing songs in demo form on old tape recorders since the 80s. . . and he's still capturing his magic sounds in his secret basement. Damien Youth