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Owen Beverly
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Absalom
Sometimes when the earth makes a pillow
Beneath the glow of a harvest moon
I've heard of a voice in the willows
Whistling an old familiar tune
And on its way through Arkansas
And down from Tennessee
A voice blown on the winter wind
Whispered words to me:
'And on me, on me
Rides hard times and trouble'
Now it takes a man of superstition
To find cause for suspicion in a weather vane
But I've seen men speak with fire and conviction
Silence at the sound of this refrain:
'And I was there when David's son
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Was cut down from a tree
And on the lips of Absalom
A breath has set me free
'And on me, on me
Rides hard times and trouble'
Caught by the hair
Laid down in the open air
Born from the mouth of Absalom
'And on me, on me
Rides hard times and trouble
'And on me, on me
Rides hard times and trouble'
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