The velvet night on skin
Like an owl in the city
His eyes look like a grin
As the city lights
From city buildings
And city streets
Light up the yellow specks
Hiding underneath
The vision of a ghost
Flashing across the sky
As the lyrical thoughts
Of a poet's heart and mind
Feel the depression
Of a long forgotten host
And it found a living
memorial
Inside a small
Brown box
The vision of the high seas
Rolling in the wind
It found its own leather coat
As it slapped across the sins
Of an ever living light
That swallows up the whale
Living in a small, broken home
Inside a small, red pail
And a small, red smile
And a small, red tongue
Sticking out from the shout
Of the seaman from the sun
In that small, brown box
And within a yellow home
Manipulated by the hands
Of a boy yet to be grown
The vision of a castle
Mighty in the sky
The people all around it
Disgusting in the mind
And all there is to see
Is a small, white jumping cat
In the big, round fighting field
Playing with a sluggish rat
Whose little squeaks
And little eyes
Scream out to no one
Lost in time
And if I was a miracle
I'd jump right at your side
And bring my horse of virtue
And my cup of wine
And if I was a hurricane
I'd climb on summer's back
And bring green to the pastures
Of the mid-west track
And if I was a woman
I'd only die when I knew
The sun and moon would carry on
And all my kin
And all my love
Was nurtured by them all
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