Hymn No. 86

(W/ organ accomp.)


You asked me once, could I fly?
Was I ever afraid to die?
No, I'm not; I will survive
Like an angel
In the night


When the song starts to play
Feel my soul carried away
Every night, every time
Eerie days
Always cry


Because this strength that's inside
It compels me: Never hide
Though I've lost some control
Felt compassion
For the cold


Feel the warmth of the sun
It don't shine, but we are one
Spin around through space and time
We can shine
'Cause you're the one

Master Thought is an Afterthought

The master thought is an afterthought at the dawn of all things. Wherein lies the truth and hidden joys of sleuthing and looting, masquerading like a mosquito high on oxygen and daring to once again fly south for the armistice. It’s a weather balloon, I tell myself, quickly noting the time and position of the earth upon its cloud. Too many days and dangers for this week, I’m still thinking as my teeth reach into a water glass, pretending they know what it is that I want. Say what you will, Captain cat, I know how the girls really decide the truth and I’ve for once and all decided on a course of non-action to seek the truth and torture the soothsayer, the bricklayer. I am master of thought and have bought all there is to see in the dreary mucky daydream. Silence and fortitude far outweigh the fortune of the day and claim the hidden starry clay in which toes were dug once when I and we were young men. Take it away, take it away. I won’t stay. I won’t say how much the dismay overwhelms either as the dust turns to waves and she says goodbye again.

Extract the relapse and toiletries there’s no room for sorrow this way. Forgive me sire, I’ve taken the liberty of drying your socks and tucking them into your boots where your heart belongs. It longs for dirt and diaries, you see, a weeping catastrophe of polygamy and trailfeet. Don’t worry about me, I’ve had plenty of tuna fish to take on the long journey ahead and when end is reached there it’s bleached in eyes of sand and hands and go glands headbands.

This is all about a decision, see. This is what it sounds like to me if we slowed it down to twisted chubby checker nanoseconds and observational scores of multidtudionous children. Had to have spelled that wrong. But I take it with me just the same, just as if it were the lion that maimed my child and my loins (spelled just like lion but twistier) is all I need. Take it from me, I’ve heard ‘em all and goddamn if I don’t still give a shit.