I hold the weight of a heavy ghost
Standing guard at the porch's post
My grain is deep and my varnish thin
Where the summer heat and the salt begin
Rocking back on a wooden floor
Tracing lines by the open door
Swaying low while the thunder rolls
Counting beats for the weary souls
I see the *Monarda* shake in the breeze
Bending low like the willow trees
The soil is rich and the air is gray
Watching colors of the daylight fade
Rocking back on a wooden floor
Tracing lines by the open door
Swaying low while the thunder rolls
Counting beats for the weary souls
Iron nails hold my joints in place
Weathered skin on a wooden face
The rain hits hard on the rusted tin
Letting all of the cold wind in
Heavy clouds turn the valley black
One slow step and I'm coming back
Sinking deep in the cedar groove
Waiting for the heavy sky to move
*Digitalis* bows its purple head
Where the garden path and the clover spread
I feel the shiver of a sudden chill
While the valley stays frozen and still
Rocking back on a wooden floor
Tracing lines by the open door
Swaying low while the thunder rolls
Counting beats for the weary souls
The storm breaks out with a sudden crack
Lighting strikes on a mountain track
I keep the rhythm of a steady beat
Feeling thunder underneath my seat
Rocking back on a wooden floor
Tracing lines by the open door
Swaying low while the thunder rolls
Counting beats for the weary souls
Swaying low, swaying slow.
Just a cedar sway.
Swaying slow.
