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Hunting Trip

from Little Wounds by Bob Barnett

/

lyrics

next to your favorite tools a thermos keeps you warm
wearing hand me down boots that your father had worn
you wear a winter hat with your freezing hands
you keep your finger on the trigger but you just sit and stare
at the grass moving in the morning breeze
you said the dirt felt softer down on your knees
now you look at your hands and they start to shake
now you look at your hands and they don't look the same
in the pickup truck that your father died in
you have pictures of your brother playing with his three kids
now you look at your hands and they start to shake
now you look at your hands and they don't look the same
you're red eyed on the ride home back from your mother's house
where she was on her seventh glass and now your filled with doubt
that you'll ever be something in her eyes something so much more
than just the reason that she started drinking for
you can't ever go back I know you want to
It was on that hunting trip when you were a kid
you lost your father now you can't hide from it

credits

from Little Wounds, released August 18, 2014

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Bob Barnett Pennsylvania

Guitar//banjo//golden retriever//

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