The sky's purple. The clouds are gray.
My hands are crumpled, a wasted page.
I got a journal, in my mind, it stays.
I drew us together on every single page.
I remember when Papa left
I was looking out the front door window
Thinkin bout how far it was
From my home to Amarillo
Ooo, I'm weepin willows
Ooo, I'm weepin willows
I'd rather be an acorn that falls from a tree
I'd rather be an acorn that falls when you leave me
I'd rather be an acorn that falls from a tree
I'd rather be an acorn that falls when you leave me