And if there’s no bread to be had tonight I will eat words she said
I’ll sprinkle them all with pepper and salt, and gobble them up in bed.
If light is a language and sunset a sermon
And dusk is a tribesman in deep purple turban
Then why speak in words that will ruin the night?
When nothing that’s said can ever be right.
Bright lights on the hillside no stars in the sky
My heart it is heavy and it won’t tell me why
The frogs they do croak and the crickets they chafe
While alone at the window I stand like a waif
Though my life it be full of love and its singing
It harbors still shadows of pain and its stinging.
Who put the cluck in the chicken and
Sharpened each green blade of grass?
Who rouged the cheeks of the sunset and
Filled the blue rivers with bass?
I’ve scoured the world for the artist
Whose skill grazes everything
I haven’t glimpsed her yet, but once
I think I heard her sing.