(Dedicated to the memory of a great poet, Frank Stanford)

Three hits to the heart son and it's poetry in motion
One could send you down the river three's a strange way to be delivered
Would you trade your words for freedom that's a barter for a blind man
Three hits to the heart son and it's poetry in motion

Are you leveed like a treasure only words can help me find you
And this world's a fickle measure I will painfully remind you
From a wise man to your red hand you lay covered in our best sins
Three hits to the heart son and it's poetry in motion

Well I dream you constant stranger with your best bloods and your anger
You say mother do you claim me my beloved do you blame me
Well the first two might release you but the last one sings in me son
Three hits to the heart son and it's poetry in motion

Three hits to the heart son and the last one sings in me

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