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Brock Zeman
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Push Them Stones
The wind's trying to blow on through the front door
The rain sounds like God driving nail's
Sitting and smoking by the candles
All the lights are out in town
No use in trying the T.V.
Guitar hasn't spoke to me in days
Only thing shaking around here are
My hands and the trees outside my window panes
Hand's on the clock they're nailed on
Time won't die it just grins and laughs
Ain't nothing left to do for a poor boy
You gotta push them stones through the hourglass
My ears are aching for some talking
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My belly's growling for some heat
My arm's are reaching for a woman
My legs are searching for mainstreet
Guess I could call up Crazy Sandy
She sure can dance good lordy lord
With one hand she'll cure your lonely
And with the other she'll be digging around
In your pocket book
You can go out every evening
And have you a high time big boy
But when your money well runs dry, dry, dry
You'll be paying double for the nights you should've spent at home
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