By James Strauss

There was no house,
Not of the rising sun,
There was a bloody blouse,
With the proof of a gun,
As the light from down south
Lit up where there’d been none.

Don’t stop believing,
That there’s any place to go,
Life’s not relieving,
Not back then nor anymore,
We’re all stuck at receiving,
Whatever comes through that door.

Whether you did it or not,
That’s the hand you’ve been dealt,
To stay or run all you got,
Nobody cares how you felt,
Least of all one who’s been shot,
A mind now of ice never to melt.

Nobody’s dead it’s not that way,
My thoughts just create,
Wild thoughts here and astray,
Nobody stays not now or of late,
Maybe back then not of today,
Time’s split half love and half hate.

People going don’t say goodbye,
They still think you did it,
Though it has proven everyone lied,
No body, no blood, not one bit,
No gun no run like somebody died,
Wonder remains about why they quit.

There is no house,
Not of the rising sun,
There’s no church to be the mouse,
Nothing to use in place of the gun,
I’m busy believing I’m really Strauss,
Living along like it’s just great fun.