mountain music

i will sit
on the floor
of this valley
until I again hear
that sweet, sweet gong
of the yonder mountains
under spell of moonshine
and the moonshiner's
sweet and sickly
moonshining
country
song

the
spectre
of revenuers
haunt my dreams,
though i no longer scream,
nightmares of re-upping
with that old river-bend,
oak-flavored, crew,
countryside life
will never do,
the records
aren't
true

Sunday nights
are an awful fright
decompressing church,
the damage those hymns do,
the preacher isn't through,
and i am awfully blue,
thank baby Jesus,
for songs to sing,
golden fears
always do
bring
fuel

the mountain stills
must continue to be fed
no matter the ungodly hour
or a precious country dream
i promised daddy that i would
keep on that moonshine circuit
and keep the corn-mash glow
forget warm bed and home
get to places far enough
the revenuers won't
ever, ever go