Tag: Sunday songs and poems

Snow falls on a Southbound train
Flakes enough to paint and stain
All the world in their domain

Stuck inside this stagnant crust
On metal wheels and under-rust
Feels more like pain than wander-lust

Sitting still because of freight
To see its fate we wait and wait
The youngest stir, their voices grate

There has to be a better mode
To cross the land to one’s abode
Since progress from when horses rode

Indeed there is a smaller box
Much smoother too sans bed of rocks
To it the wiser masses flock

This newer mode more civilized
More flexible and free it rides
The height of speed industrialized

Often now is criticized
“We must ignore the soul to rise
Above the individual lies”

“The greater good we all comprise”
Or so they do idealize
I’m stuck here as I realize

The greatest mode of transport be
The one that makes a person free
And that one still a car for me

“So blow the smoke and smog”, they say,
“And hasten now our judgement day
Unless we find a better way”

Unless that way will give me wings
I won’t let go my joyous flings
I do not fear these doomsday things

I’ll drive my car free and fast
Knowing that the fad won’t last
It’ll be your train, not me that’s passed
So joyfully I’ll push the gas

You needn’t worry that I do
It’s me who pays instead of you
Unlike your train that’s funded through

Money taken from the rest
And given to the pompous blessed
So they can do what they deem best

I’ll keep mine, thank you, if you please
It makes us all feel more at ease
So keep your hands away, you sleaze

I’ll drive into my own sunset
Excited for new forms unmet
Or maybe my own private jet

There’s something wonderful and free
Left uncontrolled by transport “We”
When making plans for me is me

New tides pull the mind
Leaving old ideas behind
In the pools of time unkind

Glasses full of red wine,
Still we’re powerless to climb
The stormy seas of yours & mine

So pull the thread of this rhyme
Unfold the bundles we bind
As mud on the eyes of the blind

What’s yours is mine
& loving you I find
Is a piece of the divine

Between every other
Odd-numbered November

You tell us that we’re slaves
So you might as well be master

After all you gave your last slaves
Plenty of bread

Half put out our hands
And half just shake our heads

You call it greed when I give five
To a man I see is poor

You tell me I don’t care
You say it should be more

So you shake me down and take my cash
And give the guy just four

Everything you do with guns
You love me when you make your runs

But I ain’t dumb, I know
That after the show

You’ll tell me what to drive to where
And charge me just to get there

It’s for my good you know
Your conscience tells you so

You’re on your way to heaven
But the place you’ve made me live in

Is nothing short of hell
It’s nothing short of hell

There’s gotta be something
There’s gotta be something free

 

This place got kinda twisted
So much quicker than you’d think

You’d think we’d learn our lesson
After watching others sink

But inside the little Social Clubs
The kids are taught to trust and love

Anything but self
They put it on the shelf

They serf the wake they should be mourning
And mourn the greatest gift of all

Instead of taking warning
Instead of taking warning

There’s gotta be something
There’s gotta be something free

 

When I sleep I seem to find it
I find it ‘cause I dream

I guess it’s time to find a way
To dream instead of waking

To take what’s for the taking
To see with eyes wide open

What I used to see while sleeping
The things I once was weeping

Are blessings for the reaping
Blessings for the reaping

It ain’t wrong to take some joy
In my own free will

It ain’t wrong to take some joy
In my own free will

You dance your ‘righteous’ dance
I’ll gladly take a pass

And dream while I see
I really am still free

I saw a man on a corner street
Yelling out a name

He told me, “Vote for this guy”
I said, “They’re all the same”

He yelled, “This one’s different
He’ll give us what we need”

“That’s what I’m afraid of”
I said, and turned to leave

The man yelled, “Wait! Stop!
I still don’t understand”

I said, “What I need ain’t the business
Of any other man”

He hung his head and groaned
Still clearly in the dark

And said, “You’re with the other party
They’ve surely missed the mark!”

I said, “Sir, I don’t care too much for parties,
Freedom’s what I’m about

Whether it’s in the bedroom or the boardroom
The only place for government is out”

The throes of death do bear contempt,
From the breast of ev’ry man,
Nearly doth he taste,
Else he understand.

When seen but from fair distance
The blackness drowns all light,
Or rather blackness nay it was,
When seen with eyes aright.

Yet in his breast man needs a cower,
From eyes so far and cold,
Lest digest he the second fruit,
These mysteries unfold.

Still very this hour
Doth terry not ever,
Whence all tales be told;

Cold becomes bright forever.