Courtenay, oh Courtenay, a sun-baked strip of tar A straight and narrow garden path that I weave through in my car A blur of green and brown and gray, the kind I've never seen A lonely lane of rushing pace with nothing in between Years ago you belched up hot and humid Southern air Mosquito swarms and periwinkles fluttered here and there Tower oaks and mossy climbs that slunk down to the ground Firelight and old time stories dancing all around Courtenay, oh Courtenay, you stretch between the trees Groves of orange and yellow fruit, with boxes for the bees Launch pads up ahead of me, brake pads for sale on my right A luscious swirl of weeds and rusting misty morning light Sliding through the kind of days that often came and went A package full of marmalade that Sister Sarah sent The porch was tilted to the right under the player's weight The pluck of guitar lullabies so dearly missed of late Courtenay, oh Courtenay, the rivers round you sleep Lazy current waterways, seldom very deep Children with cane fishing poles kneedeep in the sand The lighthouse out Canaveral way, silent, tall and grand Courtenay, oh Courtenay, they rush across you now A pizza place, a billboard sign, a farmer and his plow Phosporescent fireflies that whistle dixie tunes Power lines and sleeping giants waiting for the moon A blinding flash of smoking fire ripping through the clouds Lights anew a wall of moss that only hints at what it shrouds An old foundation and a piece of roof are all that I can see As I buzz on by, necktied and late for meeting #3 At one end a drawbridge sits stuck open for an hour A line of cars and trucks all spitting air so foul and sour At the other end there stands a bridge aimed upwards at the stars Overgrown, forgotten, silent relics laced with scars Courtenay, oh Courtenay, a sun-baked strip of tar A straight and narrow garden path that I weave through in my car A blur of green and brown and gray, the kind I've never seen A lonely lane of rushing pace with nothing in between |