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First Day Of The Year

Raise the lights above a whisper

enough so everyone can hear.

This ain’t a cornfield in Iowa,

but it’s the first day of the year.

Should old acquaintance be forgotten

like verses soaked in beer.

And melodies a-changin’

on the first day of the year.

Bruised but still breathing,

driven and seething,

on lost highways through the night in the south.

Bone man’s in the window

with liquor pouring into,

and words spilling out of their mouths.

Parade is marching down your main street.

The band is warming in the rear.

If I could lay down this guitar some

to feel the first day of the year.

These ghosts that tap me on the shoulder

and whisper nothings in my ear

keep their secrets hidden from me

on the first day of the year.

Pledge pin through my skin,

revolver at my chin,

And Happy Days helps to me to survive.

There’s an angel of death.

I can smell her on my breath.

I’ll never make it out of this world alive.

© Michael Worthington Music 2017

It's about Hank Williams Sr. and Townes Van Zandt.

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