Acorn (a song after Jonny Cash)

Visions

I saw an acorn on the ground
I picked it up, turned it around
I put it in my pocket and I took it home with me.
I made a hole I made a mound
And laid it there all snug and sound
And then I covered it and watered it, you see.

I went to bed that night and wondered
What if I wake up from my slumber
To find an oak tree like no one has ever seen.
Then I would climb up it and wander
Amid the lightning bolts and thunder
And find a treasure that’s been waiting there for me.

But when I woke up in the morning
The sky was grey, the rain was pouring
And my oak was just a muddy patch upon the grass.
And my dream was just a child’s story
Which on the chilly wooden flooring
Lay scattered like so many beads of glass.

And then my parents moved around
To other streets, in other towns,
And I grew up and I left home to find my way.
And though my feet were on the ground
My head was always in those thunderclouds
And I knew I’d find my treasure there one day.

Well, you know that life is long
With twists and turns of rights and wrongs
And many happenings that wait around the bend.
But all these things only prolong
The culmination of each song
And every song must come home in the end.

And so one pretty summers day
I passed that town along the way
And went to look at where the old house stood.
The owners, seemed like they were out all day
So I went round back through the alleyway
And climbed over the fence into the yard.

And there, where the lawn had been
Grew an oak as big as I had ever seen
And I swear that it was where I’d made my mound.
So I climbed up and ripped my jeans
And I emerged out of that of green
To see the world beneath me spinning ’round.

So I just sat there for a while
Just looking out for miles and miles
Until the cool blue dusk began to settle in.
And on my face I wore a smile
For all that time of searching and denial
When this was where my treasure’s always been.

Advertisements

There is no magic

Songs of the Everyday, Uncategorized

And you may scream the stillborn scream
And you may shut your eyes and try to wake the dream
And you might thrust your hand out in defiance
Or roar the roar of wounded giants –
But you won’t get your loved one back,
Or turn the grinning terror back
Or slow the fleeting second into precious minutes
Or turn those dying numbers into winners.
Alas, this clay may never turn to gold.
There’s no more magic in this world.

And there’s no god to interfere
To smite your enemies with love and fear,
At least not such a god, and not like that,
And no such devil either, for a’ that –
However many souls you offer
To put into their empty coffers.
Forgive me friend, but truth be told,
There is no quick salvation in this world.

And afterwards your daydreams will devour
What you’d had done with all those special powers
Or what you’d tell the grinning idiots the next time round.
But will it differ next time round?
You could be left there standing just the same
Your mouth will mouth those silent words again…
So come my friend we must be bold.
There is no easy answer to this world.

… I want to soar at speed across the valley and embrace it in one single gasp.
It stretches out beneath and in front and I strain to fill its depth and breadth.
But I know I need to descend slowly and on foot,
and hope that I can grasp a mere part
from pebbles, clumps of grass I see along the way –
And hope that I can still look up occasionally
from my stumbling feet
to see the horizon.

– 0 –