because I'm somewhat afraid of playing in front of people, I sometimes turn songs into poems (I can bring myself to do poetry readings). This was written after hearing "priscilla" (songs of red and gray), for the first time (this morning), and thinking "I have to write a song!" It's not about Suzanne, and it's not about a woman I met -- it would be very hard to describe what it's about -- but enough to say, it's about my spiritual teacher, who would probably like it if she read it -- "If you meet the Guru on the road, kill the Guru". (oh-- why this is cheating -- this is a poem, not exaclty a song -- for now).
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I think of all the things I “can’t do”,
for reasons illogical, unclear.
My sense that I am less than I am
springs from a keen sense of fear
I walk down the dark and glistening street,
at five in the morning, after the rain.
This feeling I am nothing, I’m no one,
is now my deepest pain.
I sing to the tree bark,
all wet and crisp and new.
I think of the one thing I can’t do without;
I think of you.
Funny I think of a lady who
I’ve met for only a moment, twice,
as so much more important and central,
than myself in my own life.
I sing to the pink carnations,
All wet and drooping and glad.
I know there must be more to this life
than the awful times I’ve had.
I sing to the reflection
in the puddle in which I stand.
Am I old or young? Am I a slave?
Or am I a free man?
Marc
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"Every dream has a name, and names tell your story" -- David Byrne