I'm a stranger to the fever that

changed our east Kentucky home.

but the graveyard has the story.

with the proof on half the stone.

It closed down the railroad,

so men could open up the tomb,

a brush with death at brush creek,

a brush with certain doom.

The scarlett sun has settled down,

with a shadow on the grave.

and brush creek is much different now.

but death will never change.

I'm a stranger to the fever,

but a victim of it's wrath

forI carried up the creekstone

for the dead in scarletts path.

who had no respect of persons,

no mountain was to high.

scarlett like a spirit ,with the

choice of who would die.