Grey rides the day,
on a soft easy glow
below hush
it sings me to sleep,
my eyes,my eyes
oh baby oh baby all pet n purr
but it lies.
it charms the way of the wanderer with mellancholy come along on tethered hope
Streets of clouds on heartdrop pattern sing to the tarantula wind that plays mystic to the fiddler's prayer
as a door opens, fly and bang!
and the stock over shoulder look,
forgetting their cud and burst splatter udders
that sway as hades on opium.
the highway sings distant
not all pot and clang cachophony
while the grey rides silver morning trains
on blue hazy dreams
that blaze and sear the colours of your perfect
portfolio
so trumped and shit upon
i walk the edge of shapeless time and withered green
sold as baker's dozen
and there!
there!
is where grey found me needing.
so a begger I'll but be,
but not one of sullen enterprise
nor sandpiper compromise
-me for my egg
grey tells you
it is enough
I tell you,
it is not.
(I'm sorry, I did all I could but the spacing just wouldn't cooperate. A real disaster. It is what it is, I suppose.)
~rick
