Pages

15 November 2022

raven

 death is the bird            perched on your shoulder                   who counts your days             and marks out your time                that song is mine                 and never grows older               so bake me some cake           that was hard in the making                 this world belongs           to my children and I

I’ve gone alfresco              from no television        I gather my news    straight from the vine               we’re crashing out            to another dimension          these shoes were insured        for sunnier climes         I poured me some sense               from an unopened bottle            and drank me a truth         that won’t be denied

if you see it      you’ll be it     so don’t get excited              this train will roll     to the end of the line               I can hear music        wrapped up in thunder         I know the words    that make us divine              I’m like the raven              that carries you over      and paints you immortal       if you’re so inclined  

 

No comments:

Post a Comment