We Have No Idea (Blues Rift Taken from Tombstone Blues)
"The ghost of Belle Star she hands down her wits"
To the time when there were stars in the kitchen
And I had no idea there were this many roaches
To climb all over my thumbs as I hitch rides.
Don't scream and moan that "I've just been made"
Don't take time to try on new hats that don't fit
Move on down lines that make sense to people that smile
With the intent of making you do the same.
I am not in trouble with the thought of choosing you.
There aren't enough dime phone calls to be made
For that season to become cold or too hot and
To be considered sat worthlessly alone.
In guitar rifts Beethoven laughs at the jester
As the flagpole becomes the meeting place for all the leaders.
And I wish I could write you a melody so plain
That would show you the gathering of all this pointless knowledge.
In time Maggie can come sit down next to all of it
Take off her bonnet and write you a poem
In earthed chalk on a flat stone, that was created,
By God, just for you to read from it.