I wrote this a while ago, but have always liked it. If Stephen King wrote a country song, this is how I imagine it would roll...

Crickets and Cowbells

 

Crickets and cowbells

Sounds of summer

With the summer sun

And the summer smells

By your side’d be

Heaven never-ending

 

Crickets and cowbells

Not the kind of romance that sells

But it’s the time by your side

I long to be spending

 

I crawl by your side

In the green summer grass

A glance to the skies

A lone cottony cloud

Shades my eyes

I look back to yours…

 

Your eyes are what I see

Crickets and cowbells,

The sounds that I hear

The sweet summer air I breathe

As I touch the one I love

Moving the hair from your eyes

 

Fits a story of young love

Like a hand to a glove

But the bird calling from above

More a carrion crow than a dove

And there’s nothing romantic

About the meal he’d love

 

This could be heaven, but it’s not

Would have you in my arms

But it’s taken all I’ve got

Just to crawl up to the spot you died

Just to crawl and die there by your side

The tragic ending of a carefree summer ride

 

Crickets and cowbells

The sounds of summer

With the summer sun

And the summer smells

Now by your side

Heaven never-ending

 

Crickets and cowbells

Not the kind of romance that sells

But forever by your side

In afterlife, I’ll be spending

 

I crawled by your side

In the green summer grass

I glanced to the skies

A lone cloud shaded my eyes

I reach out to close yours…

 

Your eyes, the last I see

Crickets and cowbells

The last sounds I hear

And my last breath,

The sweet summer air

But the bitter taste of blood

Pales to the final touch

To the final touch of

The one I love

Closing your dead eyes

Crickets and cowbells

Go on, none the wise

Only the carrion crow

There to realize

 

Fits a story of young love

Like a hand to a glove

But the bird calling from above

More a carrion crow than a dove

And there’s nothing romantic

About the meal he’d love

 

My arm collapses around you

The tragic ending of a carefree summer ride

Now, heaven never-ending

I die there by your side

 

Fits a story of young love

Like a hand to a glove

But the bird calling from above

More a carrion crow than a dove

And there’s nothing romantic

About the meal he’d love

 

Fits a story of young love

But it’s a swan-song from above

And the last earthly sounds

I was blessed to hear

Not your sweet breath whispering

But of crickets and cowbells