BAYOU STATIC

Tin roof rhythm humming through my window pane.
Old screen door rattling like it knows my name,
Heat light flickers crawling through the sugarcane.
There's a low band whisper riding on the breeze,
Buzzing through the power lines hanging in the trees.
Every road I wander winds me back again,
Like the marshlands got a hole buried in my skin.
Biostatic frequencies through my bones,