Oh You - Greg Brown

With your measured abandon and your farmer’s walk

With your «let's go» smile and your bawdy talk

With your mother’s burden and your father’s stare

With your pretty dresses and your ragged underwear

Oh you

With your heart-shaped rocks and your rocky heart

With your worn-out shoes and your eagerness to start

With your sudden lust on an old dirt path

With your candle-lit prayers and your lonely bath

Oh you

Now you stand at the station and you look at the sky

And the train rolled in and it went on by

You had packed up your suitcase, you had saved up the fare

And you don’t know why, but you’re still standing there

With your pledge of allegiance and your ringless hand

With your young woman’s terror and your old woman’s plan

With your sister’s questions and your brother’s tears

With your empty womb and the forsaken years

Oh you

With your barroom poems and your Sinatra songs

With your twenty notebooks each five pages long

With your secret hideout made of leaves and mud

With your pocket knife and your roaring blood

Oh you

Well, your children look at you and wonder

'Bout this woman made up of lightning bugs and thunder

And they take in what you can’t help but show

With your name that is half yes, half no

With your jealous eye and your wish to do right

With your hungry arms and your sleepless nights

With your joy in the circle and your stories to tell

You walk around jangling the keys to your cell

Oh you

Now it looks like rain and it’s all gone gray

And in a while there’ll be another sunlit day

And you won’t remember the half open door

Or the train that won’t even stop there any more

For you