Come Down and Watch the Parade
"Trimmed down to the bone by way the bark", that's what they say about some people. There seems to be an epidemic of old southern style coming around lately. The style itself is easy like melted pan butter on French toast. They say it's because of the stagnant cycle. They say it's because heritage done come and gone with the way the bark got stripped from the tree.
There's no salt on her tail anymore. She doesn't have the need to chase herself around the dark only to find that what was on her tail was salt. All those dizzy days trying to drink the something off her own tail drove her to permanent tired. Around she would go until she fell down and laid still. When she lay still she saw that her tail curled right up to her nose and that the salt that was there wasn't worth licking anyway.
I thought I met a man that could help me and be my friend. But he just asked if I knew a man that knew what was going on. I was mistaken only in strangers and never in the fruits. Only in the walk do you think. I thought I found a place to help me sleep. My nights had never been darker or longer and I was mistaken. Reflections of shadows come down to slap my hand and breath on my knees and thighs. They come down to play with me through all my mistakes. I thought I had seen someone laughing in the sun.
Two of Us by the Beatles has an intro in which John Lennon reads "Act 1: in which Doris gets her oats." Then they all laugh and start singing with that pendulum tic toc rhythm and those loose bass guitars that barely get through their beards. You can almost feel the soft rug below bare feet and you can listen to that loose slap base guitar style of John's and Paul's way too high voice that shouldn't have been so loved. Raincoats and solo and sun and chasing paper are coming to my ears. It was all a good laugh and it seems to be tireless.
If there was only a borough to sleep in
Sleep well like a grandfather
With his grandchildren in the house
That definition that we need
That borough that doesnt seep
That bridge that never sags
If there was only a borough to sleep in
The only thing that breathes
The soul's escape
