(Dedicated to the memory of a great poet, Frank Stanford)



Three hits to the heart son and it's poetry in motion

One could send you down the river three's a strange way to be delivered

Would you trade your words for freedom that's a barter for a blind man

Three hits to the heart son and it's poetry in motion



Are you leveed like a treasure only words can help me find you

And this world's a fickle measure I will painfully remind you

From a wise man to your red hand you lay covered in our best sins

Three hits to the heart son and it's poetry in motion



Well I dream you constant stranger with your best bloods and your anger

You say mother do you claim me my beloved do you blame me

Well the first two might release you but the last one sings in me son

Three hits to the heart son and it's poetry in motion



Three hits to the heart son and the last one sings in me




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