I've been listening to a lot of Kris Kristofferson:
And there's no need to stay and see
The way it ends
It's over
Nobody wins
He's a poet, and he's a picker, he's a prophet, and he's a pusher
He's a pilgrim and a preacher, and a problem when he's stoned
He's a walking contradiction, partly truth and mostly fiction
Taking every wrong direction on his lonely way back home
Well I woke up Sunday morning with no way to hold my head that didn't hurt
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad, so I had one more, for dessert
On the Sunday morning sidewalks, wishing Lord, that I was stoned
Cause there's something in a Sunday, makes a body feel alone
And there's nothing short of dying, half as lonesome as the sound
On the sleeping city sidewalks, and Sunday morning coming down
If you waste your time a-talking to the people who don't listen,
To the things that you are saying, who do you think's gonna hear.
And if you should die explaining how the things that they complain about,
Are things they could be changing, who do you think's gonna care?
Yesterday is dead and gone
And tomorrow's out of sight
And it's sad to be alone
Help me make it through the night
But dreaming was as easy as believing it was never gonna end
And loving her was easier than anything I'll ever do again
Lord help me, Jesus, I've wasted it so
Help me Jesus I know what I am
But now that I know that I've needed you so
Help me, Jesus, my soul's in your hand
Lay your head upon my pillow
Hold your warm and tender body
Close to mine
Hear the whisper of the raindrops
Blow softly against my window
Make believe you love me
One more time
For the good times
My Best-Carey