It could be a still life
right out of Norman Rockwell,
entitled "What is Left After Strife."
What was so tightly bound;
cut by a dull knife.
Left in the shadows, boots,
banjo, guitar where they fell.
It could be a still life.
There is a funeral march
awaiting drum and fife.
Play it long and low,
while they toll the bell,
entitled "What is Left After Strife."
The guitar and cowgirl boots
I gave when I made you my wife,
my banjo and motorcycle boots left
when you said farewell.
It could be a still life.
We played here in our house
on the banks of the Yellowknife.
The boots and instruments long to share;
a story they wish to tell entitled "What is Left After Strife."
I know I may be left to carry on
alone through life,
boots, banjo, guitar and me
left in some cheap motel.
It could be a still life
entitled "What is Left After Strife."
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