Longer Roads - by the ghost of Johnny Cash and myself

So, its 4 in the morning, and the ghost of Johnny Cash is drinking out of my Jack bottle in the kitchen of my quaint little apartment. I open my bedroom door, turn on the light and there he is. Black shirt, pants, just checking the fridge, guitar slung over his back.

I'm all, "Hey Johnny, uh... hows it going, you want a sandwich or something? He shakes the bottle, and replies, " No thanks Zachary, but your plum outta Mr. Daniels. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but where your going, your going to need to stock up, son" Confused and wiping sleep from my eyes I replied, "I don't think I follow, I'm doing well.... I'm in good health, young, and life's been good lately." He smiles, and says a matter a fact, "Some folks got longer roads than others, and some folks got mighty big trials. But, the good lord won't put anything in your path that he knows you can't muster the strength to climb. The Jack Daniels will just to wet yer whistle while you climb. It aint yer fuel, so don't rely on it like a lame mule. Thats from my personal experience. Nice, Spider man boxers by the way... Now, quit gawking at me like my damn heads on fire and get yerself a paper and pen."

So I did...

..and this is what we wrote.


Longer Roads

- by the ghost of Johnny Cash and myself



When it even hurts to dream

I've drank too much

to pass thoughts of you

such a broken crutch

The road gets longer

it all still hurts

dust and blood

all over my shirt

Another road

with my broken crutch

the lies she tells

make me drink too much

I keep to the road

to shake her curse

but I see through her smile

and the storms get worse

Leaving me

won't hurt her much

so I find a seat at the bar

and I take my shots straight up

Another road

with my broken crutch

the lies she tells

make me drink too much

I'll dream of her

and it'll scorch like fire

as I walk on to find

another beautiful lier.