Weeds

They be a lesson in life of how anything can grow.

Weeds

They be just like 'em  there where that  barn stood,
that come for nothing but some rotten old wood.
They be picked up by the wind and travelin’ ‘round,
listening to the box cars making their sounds.

They dirty up the sidewalk and they huddle by a diner
They known by them chords, the old strumming A minor.
I’ve seem with my headlights along the …