Many men died on this road (and I knew some of them). Their widow’s tears anoint the paving stones that stretch further than the eye can. This road leads nowhere and there’s no use travelling it – unless you have nothing better to do than waste time chasing shadows until you fall.
If I should fall don’t bury me by the side of the road. Bury me somewhere like home – anybody’s home. Where someone might keep my grave clean – so it don’t disappear beneath the tall grass. And if no one remembers me – that’s fine ‘cause I’ll have a stone with my name on it. In that graveyard somewhere clean.