Little Trees

Basing everything I say on the red read words you've been...
sending my way,
at the end of each day I'll have lent you a phrase that I've read to...
regret 'til I'm red in the face.

I won't ask for a cure,
not for a verse,
not for a glimpse from the Heavens of Earth,
or the worst of punishments meant for me first,
or the reasons I've been here for seasons and turns,
chasing history round with the birds,
for the secrets in sounds and the weeping of work.

And I'll learn ofa the waiting release,
or of him the releaser,
commander in chief,
and police of the purified and of the beasts,
so what else?

And beyond and beyond and beyond
being bonded to flesh,
to lessons,
questions and tests,
we might see what's left and what's leaving it's weight.

I won't ask for a cure,
not for a verse,
not for a glimpse from the Heavens of Earth,
or the worst of punishments meant for me first,
or the reasons I've been here for seasons and turns,
chasing history round with the birds,
for the secrets in sounds and the weeping of work.

Deep beneath the ocean waves,
there is a whale or two
as big as you might ever be as small.

But the wails that a boy brings home
can be as big as the sea,
little trees,
or any ocean breeze.

Don't make me have to choose which side.
There ain't no side to take if you're wide awake and free.
Awake and free.

High above the mountain range
there is a gull or three
as big as me,
maybe twice as strong.

If I tried to sing 'em this old thing
they would sing to me a tweedle dee,
or in so many words.

They can fly about as high as i could ever try
to never die,
or wonder why I do.