The Crook Of My Good Arm

You start to worry about your health

as you reach a certain age. So in a

careful tongue, I have chosen one,

that I believe is safe in the crook of

my good arm.

All the liars I know tell me the

course is bleak. They can go to hell,

I know that story well, and maybe I

am weak. But not the crook of my

good arm.

Run run through the thicket and

the barley, run run for the sake

of your good name. Run run for the

puzzle of it all for the child in your

heart that's taking all the blame.

And you might hear them say it

isn't mine to claim, but I don't really

care. You see the world ain't fair

they'd probably do the same.

The cook of my good arm.