by rawclyde!
~
So I’m on my 2nd day of listening to the wind talk
out here in the bush, the cacti, lizard, bird & rock
a rare vehicle moans on the dirt road out yonder
I can’t see it, it can’t see me, out here is where I wonder
~
The message of the Indian is a tearful cry for our sweet Earth
it’s a frustrated message gagged by an ongoing technological birth
in a noisy society that consumes away & thinks God is dead
too late, you’ll learn to pray when the planet ceases to keep you fed
~
But you’ve heard this before, my talk is nothin’ new
the birds talk, the wind talks, ants prob’ly talk too
we’re all talkin’ to nitwit noisy boys just like You
but you’re plugged into TV, that’s quite a campfire you got fuckin’ you
~
Blow it all away, the planet will still be here
it’ll cleanse itself of your rot with one long drowning tear
so another civilization will bite the dust, no big deal
go ahead, make more money, work harder, ride the spinning wheel…
~
from a love song to the american lizard
by rawclyde!
(Copyright Clyde Collins 1999)
Old Timer Chronicle I 