Trail of Tears in the Snow

Footprints in the snow, fresh.
Will your divorce lawyers talk
to Jesus this night—
set me chain-free.
I set you on your traveling ways.
Searching, we'll both be curiously searching.
Even hell has its standards burn with grace—
jukebox baby, we'll meet again
in the end, in that big black box.
Jesus suffers with the poor and the lost.
Jesus is the lead tempo rubato
for both of us now bounce around
robbed of our stolen time.
Let me drive you home for the last time.
Coming home to go on separate paths.
Footprints fresh in the snow, two paths
forked off in different directions.
Hear diverse sounds —
on the FM radio, our favorite tune,
with age, it will become a classic
'Sympathy For the Devil,' The Stones,
jukebox, baby, put another quarter in.