Making Your First Million.pdf - Association of Net Entrepreneurs and ...

Making Your First Million
but not when they died. I stopped, confused and couldn't work it out. Till I came to
another, and another, and another. And I worked out what it meant. These were graves
waiting for the future occupants, who were walking around out there somewhere, to die.
It blew me away. We drove back to Nashville in silence and I was inspired to write this
ballad:
Empty Grave (Bluegrass style to the tune of Dylan's "The Lonesome Death of Hattie
Carroll")
On the fourth of July in a Tennessee graveyard deep in the Appalachian hills
Surrounded by cornfields and hay baled for winter I stopped to look at July the 4th fields
Of flowers for remembrance, corn for the living, symmetrical rows of granite and beans
Beans for the living, stones for remembering those who had fallen in Tennessee's dreams
Take a look at the names chiseled in sunshine, familiar names from Murfreesboro's hills
Hamby, Johnson, Sartain and Sutter, the granite's stutter of people who fell
Hopes in the stone, peace ever after, rest in peace Walter Johnson died 1909
Living and dying is this all it comes to? Living and dying in Tennessee time?
And I suddenly dropped to my knees in the sunshine, a bullet of silver tore through my
head
And I read my own name on the tombstone on an empty grave for the not yet dead
Take a look, you can see, my name on the tombstone, my name, when I's born but not
when I died
Oh I'm buried alive, my name on the tombstone, is this the Tennessee way that you die
Day by day with each day chiseled deeper in granite, surrounded by corn, thousand miles
from the sea
Thirty miles from Murfreesboro's interstate freeway, set me free set me free from the
grave set me free.
For I think of the empty grave, and the promise it holds there for me.
Take the stone, roll it away. Set me free from the grave set me free.
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