two wrongs don’t make a right, but three lefts do
A man played the blues for ninety-two years
In a smoke-filled bar, drinks are raised
All his favorite songs will be played
By the generation he saved
I wonder
if I’ll be
the face you pick
out of the crowd
you’ll run to,
Every
Single
Time
There’s always tomorrow
Say it again
There’s always tomorrow
Until there isn’t
Don’t take it for granted
The ability to bend the knee
And push off of it again
When you can move
Put it to work
And be grateful
For the simple things