Can we come out where
the stripeless tigers dream of stripes?
It's the circus, a carnival - I promise!
With every promise having golden rings around it, or
fake diamonds, awakened, embedded, thrown away
we can follow the moss grown over road
soak our boots as the soles fall apart underneath
every reason, leaves as the trumpet beckons another king's regard
that's what happens, that's what happened, always
under wisdom of dead trees
I hear a bluesman strum and weep
Can we stretch across the fields
where strawberries dream to be juicy melons?
It goes forever coast to Himalayas
so kiss the leaf and hope to wake up soon
before a reaper comes to bless our morning tea but
he's a legend, she's a legend - see their bright silhouettes!
A dealing with a rattlesnake, calmed by vignettes
the most affected word spilling 'cross tongues, knocking down hollow doors
all unnoticed, the accepted boasted have their giddy fun
and that's how the flute sings out of key every morning
under wisdom of dead disease
I feel a throb and start to weep
distracted by a sympathy
the coroner who seldom sleeps
Sit with me under dead branches
where the clouds ask to be endowed as art
and quick before they lose their tempers
ask any question so bold as one can think
to escape across the unfinished painted fence
oh so easy, so bendable, so bare
sit back in a chair and watch in past tense
where the moths mate with flies every light induced night
join them, join me, enjoin with a rowdy fingertip
as the director recieves what was percieved and believed,
scoffed and coughed in habit of choking
under wisdom of plastic trees
a botanist moans and weeps
Wait behind an iron gate
where I scream to be an opened map
and every pore is joining in, just to say hello,
goodbye, just as fast now slap my swollen face
a recognized debate grows impatient in partakers
differences colliding until the same becomes coherent
apparent, staring, wide mouth dripping wet
success of tomorrow is just out of reach from bed
and that's how it happened, that's how it happens
under wisdom of dead trees
we climb atop to try and see
we saw survival growing green
we stayed where bluesmen strum and weep
