When you died,
Was there sand in your boots?
And who cleaned in between your toes?
It must have been really hot out there,
With your brains on the desert sand.
I wish that I could have come
And took one in the head
Maybe God would have smiled
And given yours to me instead.
I should have gone to that festival
The one out in the sticks
But I knew that everyone out there
Would just get really drunk.
But now I wish that I had known
And gone to see you safe
To carry you back into your tent
And take off your boots.
I promise I really did like to hear
Bluegrass in the summer months
And I wish that we’d have had more beers
But now you won’t return.
But maybe someday we’ll meet again.
Maybe someday we’ll see
I wish I knew a lot of things
About both you and me.