Ian Anderson noon, Dec. 18
- Community Blog
- The Abnormal Width of Normal Heights
Another Song w/o Music
(LYRICIST'S/AUTHOR'S NOTE: Forgive the silence, if anyone is out there, I don't know where I've been. Lost in the summer fog of the northern San Francisco peninsula. Story or stories to come soon, or late, or whenever they are ready to be born.)
“Add the Music, Imagine a Voice”
I am not well read/ Only well traveled/ & not even widely/ Just around here.
You say we wander/ & sometimes we squander/ Then I say I love you/ & you squirm for more.
We're nothing but bodies/ Brains with blue hobbies/ I once had a dream/ That we were the stars.
A movie on bedsheets/ Hung on a brick wall/ We'll play it all backwards/ When the film snappers out.
But if you could rewind/ What would you then find/ About all your lovers/ Their old lives & new fat.
Most likely they'd lie/ As we have told plenty/ These masks that we don/ Every morning we wake.
Our faces are liars/ With ice we claim fires/ & as long as we're confessing/ I'll show you a body.
It's not that I've killed/ Anything or anyone/ A metaphor can be five/ Even six or a seven.
All that I'm saying/ While others are praying/ I think we should dance/ & then dance some more.
Our feet may be clumsy/ We may have no rhythm/ But girl we have something/ A stumbling joy.
Look there's a sunset/ Torching the sky/ Our wishes entangled/ Our minds need to sigh
Appreciate weeds/ Worship no creeds/ You should only see god/ In small letters & trees.
Accept you're an other/ Give in to your druthers/ Meet me at the corner/ Of Lustview & Date
Once there we can ponder/ All the plans that we've conjured/ & whittle them down/ To the shape we'll assume.
For we shall be young again/ When we are old & then/ Our love will not slow/ Or wrinkle, or fade.