Underneath the Peach Tree

There is a man, far along the dirt road Who sits under the sweet peach tree. He drinks in the twilight, pours out his spirits Underneath that sweet peach tree. I’ll join him sometimes, perch against an old white fence. Cracked lips will stretch, droopy words will fumble And he’ll tell me of the ghosts he sees, Underneath that sweet peach tree Inky night will curl to orange By the time his last words fall His eyes will roll, his neck will curve Underneath that sweet peach tree. A graceless bow to a nonexistent figure, And a tumble down the hill, Far, far away he goes From that sweet peach tree.