It was Christmas in prison
And the food was real good
We had turkey and pistols
Carved out of wood
And I dream of her always
Even when I don't dream
Her name's on my tongue
And her blood's in my stream
Wait awhile eternity
Old mother nature's got nothing on me
Come to me, run to me, come to me, now
We're rolling, my sweetheart, we're flowing by God
She reminds me of a chess game with someone I admire