What is this great song
That has my soul a singing
Floppy at the intro
Raspy in the chorus
Strumming as pure rhythm
Nodding and a bobbing
Groove and shape me loving
Letter to a great song.
When I bed my wary down
An anticipated rest at night
Whilst stars still not yet hung
A song plays in a key so high
So high I must quieten to enjoy
First the symphony comes
From the right of me
A solo of hesitation
Then echoing the chorus rings in:
“All of life, all of life, all of life!”
Off into the distant copse
A clear and bright bird stands up tall,
Two so close
Now chattering from all around!
Carrying me off on a journey
Into a night so deep
To surely dream
Of more sweetly
And I’ve been driving,
Reckless I know by name.
Shaking as high school.
And I’m a virgin.
Wet dick and anticipating
Romance full of pretending,
Two eyes on a 4:45 am highway.
Nerves and highway straits.
Six low balls
Running circles ’round my
Ain’t singing sister shows
Nothing wrong with going solo.
Motown and their twisting tu-tus.
And I’m in a stinky ward,
And the girls round here like digging.
And I got a girl who’s a dig.
A needle digs deeper guiding the well worn thimble on
Scaring dogs, singing and howling like Big Momma John
Like she’s snaking about a pale spotlight covered in sequins
Singing the whole time about a blue moon kissing her empty bottle
And filling each patron of the evening with wonderment
A quiet lady, sitting idle at the bar dressed only in pink
Clinks cold bricks slowly about the smoothed edges of her glass
Pulling at her soul for every single bit of truth she has
With high hopes that this very night will reveal all that could ever be
And harness her abandon like the piano pullin’ Big Momma John in
A mood envelops the patrons, sensually gliding from table to table
Touching far reaching itches only elation and jubilation can satisfy
Like the silver lining on a red velvet goblet
Deadly for all those unaccustomed to these desires
And final, like large Gothic keys hung around the undertakers neck
I’m sorry for wishing upon a star
I’m sorry for shading in my grays
I’m sorry for holding my glass half full
I’m sorry for not wearing socks
I’m sorry for listening to birds
I’m sorry for squeezing my hugs tight
I’m sorry for singing in the rain
I’m sorry for dancing you around in circles
I’m sorry for laughing at the jokes
I’m sorry for whispering into winds
I’m sorry for handling the hot dishes
I’m sorry for opening your door
I’m sorry for carrying the heavy stuff
I’m sorry for kissing you under that old oak
I’m sorry for making you tea