Stranger in a strange land- scans the scene for easy plunder,
ties a knot for every sorrow till he wakes up in a bundle.
What’s been borrowed, what’s been bought-
we miss what we’ve forgotten-
Like a pestilence returning, there are locusts in the cotton
and it’s strange...

Torches in the orchard, days run off like horses-
Rivers like believers seem to dry up in their courses.
Youth is a lost brother-  work and play like Cain and Abel-
There’s a rat in every cellar though the bread is on the table
and it’s strange...

Lonesome as an eagle- like a hammer for all seasons-
Like a canyon on a canvas, is there depth behind his reason?
A man will chase his fortune far, with days too few to reach that star
He’ll die with his old miner’s light still glowing in the tunnel dark-
it’s strange..