Thursday, March 27, 2008


A crow in the field, a grin on the moon,
many have left but I’ll see them all soon;
the corn in the silo is planted again
and the roots trace the memories of where it has been.

We keep the wheels spinning
and keep the lights on,
it’s not the sky’s moving
that brings us the dawn -
I traded a queen
for a fistful of pawns,
a hundred years on
and we all will be gone.

The sounds of the city, the sounds of the sea,
they both sound like far away laughter to me,
the radio playing in a ten-dollar room
sounds like the sweeping of somebody’s broom.

The names that we leave
are just words on a stone,
it’s not by our shadows
we see how we’ve grown -
I traded my heart
for a chest full of bones,
a hundred years on
and we’ll all be alone.

Some swallowed by fever, some stolen by knife,
some melt like snow in the spring of their life.
Some shine like stars to deny dark the night,
some smile and whisper we’ll all be all right.

The blooms in your hair
whither there on your head;
I wish there was something
more to be said -
I traded forever
for a night in your bed,
a hundred years on
and we all will be dead,
a hundred years on
and we all
will be dead.

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