Acorn (a song after ´╗┐Jonny Cash)


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.


Parfum Maroc

Songs of Travel

The labyrinths of Fez
Speak in a tangy air of beaten copper tones
And rooftop whiffs of acrid tanneries
The candle-lit perfume of empty rhiads
And musty passageways of ancient stone.

The desert road is silent
But for the heated whispering caress
Of hot sand winds against my ear.
My nostrils flair
To draw the fumes of heated asphalt
And the temptations of a long awaited rest.

And as you speak sweet somethings in my ear
You gift to me sweet scents of desert wind
And tussock grass in sea borne mists
And sun kissed strands and tanning cream
And clinging fabric wet on salty skin.

– o –

A video diary from travel in Morocco.
With thanks to Danil “Danny Tenfingers” for the awesome soundtrack.