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Well, the day's been cold and my hands are freezing
I've been out since late this evening,
Trying to earn my keep and bring some bread back home.

Well my wife is there and my daughters playing,
in the same old house where we've been praying
asking to change our lives and maybe redeem my pride.

You, see I'm a young man of barely fifty
who fought in the war where the bullets missed me.
They didn't miss my friends.
To father whiskey I did repent.

And my days are spent as a factory worker,
and at night I stock as a local grocery.
My eyes are the color of sleep,
and the numbness has taken my feet.

Some days I feel like death is waiting,
to take what he sees as decaying.
But, I'll find a way to cope
because my daughters name is Hope.


from Nirodha - EP, released August 19, 2014



all rights reserved


Zachary Flynn Champaign, Illinois

"Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you, that you may be my poem, I whisper with my lips close to your ears, I have loved many women and men, but I love none better than you." - Walt Whitman

Independent singer-songwriter, based out of Champaign, IL.
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