Pieces of me.

Pieces of me.

Charleston the Great wrote this note to me,
he told me of the old days and God's anatomy.

I guess he thought the truth was right beneath my nose,
for he never gave the question to my answer no one seems to know.

" Follow me, " He said. " Down that path of crimson gold. . . "
" Where earth never seems to meet the dollars farmers sold. "

His words confused me greatly;
It seems I'm lost in God's anatomy.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_

But, as I sit and ponder the words this man and wrote. . .
I take my imagination down the path of crimson gold, afloat.

And, I see the cross itself with streaks of blood all down,
and time stand still, while smiles galore do surround.

How awful it is to see what money could never buy - -
A person so loving that for us he would die . . .

And, personally the pieces of me are scattered around,
the cross itself that God's crimson gold surrounds.