what wisdom costs, we'll pay in pennies
but we'll pay, oh, we'll pay
when so much air conditioning has left wind meaningless
and grief has no place because suffering can't reach us
i'll pick lupins every morning though it may be scorned naive
i'll plant wildflowers in concrete jungles & i'll let tears fall over forgotten things
prophets are no stranger to sackcloth & ashes
and i'm not saying i'm a prophet (oh no),
i just want to tell the truth.
1 comment:
and you do. (you do tell the truth).
Post a Comment