dust | Old Timer Chronicle I

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)

rawclyde

Welllllll, let’s race on out for a little more

kick up some dust & even ye olde score

Yeeeeeeeah, everything & buddy has cracks n’ faults

so let’s leave the blues in the dust of Deep Desert Waltz

I grab a bottle, say “adios” to my Indian pal

scoot on out without much money or a big plump gal

too many memories of Ms. Beauty ends that before it starts

come on, lad, let’s flee the scams of them plump broken-hearts

They’re warm & kind but the lean are laying around inside my mind

of course, thorny sagory cacti is the only lean I find

when I low-tail it behind the mountain and around the bend

cheers! welcome to quaint solitude, my weary friend

I turn off the engine, hop out, crunch alone and along

make so much noise I hear no desert song

I pull out a paper to roll a flabbergasted smoke

it crinkles so loud I cringe at Christ’s happy go lucky joke

My only security is the Big Dipper in the sky

which is all I want spittin’ in my eye

as it grows dark Christ knows what I mean

so does Holy Mary, a kind n’ gentle human being

…

Old Timer Chronicle I