NATIVE SON                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         the road he traveled was old and worn,   walking in the footsteps of the ones before,   knocking down the walls opening the doors,  just a lone foot soldier in the culture wars                     born into a family that had worked the mines, for many generations since the dawn of time,  so he packed his bags but he came to find, that digging coal is only just a state of mind                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  the king thought the jester was the best of friends,  they always shared a laugh at everyones expense,  but the castle started crumbling from negligence, and the jester led the peasants in a rebellion                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    sitting bull was a lakota chief,  with powerful visions and prophetic dreams,  when the smoke had cleared and the gunshots ceased,  defeated colonel custer and his cavalry                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               in the eleventh hour on the seventh day, he put away his brushes and went out to play,  sent an angel down with a world to save,  took a look around and met an early grave                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               where the honeysuckle meets the morning dew, where the shadows dance beneath the silver moon,  where the stringband plays the forgotten tunes,  won't you lay me down easy when my days are through                                                                                                                                                                                                                   he was a native, he was a native son