Pile of Stones - Bill Miller

Garbage fires, worn out tires

Dull jackknives, broken lives

Starts and stops, at old pawn shops

Boys first fish, drunkards wish

Thoughts of war, behind a motel door

Strangers touch, on a broken crutch

Old man sing under an eagles wing

Cigarette spark, stray dog bark…

As long as the grasses grow

And the four winds blow

I feel your prayers from home

In this Pile of Stones

Old bike frames, the candles flame

High school dances, never had a chance

Fly off in a rage, like a bird in a cage

Baptized in the water, death of my father

Sun goes down, on this part of town

Boxers fist, junkies wrist

Deserted tracks, I ain’t goin back

Buffalo bones, old grave stones

As long as the grasses grow,

And the four winds blow

I feel your prayers from home

In this Pile of Stones, stones, stones…