I wrote this song in my head at 4:00 this morning while trying to sleep in the back of the mandioca truck. Maybe its a poem. No offense to the truck. If it weren't for the truck and it's piles of mandioca I would still be rained into site, and wouldn't have made it to Asuncion today.
The road is so bumpy,
My eardrums are shaking.
The red clay mud on my clothes
Is drying and caking.
The sun's not yet up,
My poor head is aching.
Not even the confused rooster's
are ready for waking.
