I Can Not Make Her Come Any Faster
J
James McLain
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I cannot make her come any faster,
Why does the cotton lay wet in the fields?
The sea, the ocean the waves, leave
There mark on her face.
Someone alone inside of my head, speaking
For me I have read.
Today she's o.k. in the past, she was not,
Where does the time we have used, where does
It go?
Tomorrow again she I knew,
When it rains, her cotton lies wet in the field.
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