Out of the Woods
There is a grander light as seen between the trees
As the mountain’s bowl has encompassed me,
Coddled me with the sweet pleas of a robins sorrow
Gleeful cardinals and their early morning rise
To the efface of this, my own tent of a head
For too long the hoarded nuts have been given girth
So much so that I have leaked out acorns to the streets
Relinquished my wealth in sanguine sweat of dreams
For what has one gandered from this to come out of the woods
Alive and breathing new found future
All one has to do is work through the pain in the hand of scythe
To mow down the numerous thoughts that linger there
A gait of pure frivolity when the moment so calls for wine
A stride in the heat of the furnace, my toe numbing pine
Of ones escape into a coordinated flee, nigh’ a full out gallop
Into the unknown territory you’ve been holding your breath for
And now young man with your Thoreau hat, your coals alive for the week,
Your tattered Chekhov in hand, may you find your sleep
I look to the Radio Telescopes, to the love of a woman
To come out of the woods, a radiotelegraphy of hope
For what has one gandered from this to come out of the woods
Alive and breathing new found future
All one has to do is work through the pain in the hand of scythe
To mow down the numerous thoughts that linger there
To come out of the woods, a radiotelegraphy of hope
To come out of the woods, a radiotelagraphy of hope
(brown) mustard bastard
There is a grander light as seen between the trees
As the mountain’s bowl has encompassed me,
Coddled me with the sweet pleas of a robins sorrow
Gleeful cardinals and their early morning rise
To the efface of this, my own tent of a head
For too long the hoarded nuts have been given girth
So much so that I have leaked out acorns to the streets
Relinquished my wealth in sanguine sweat of dreams
For what has one gandered from this to come out of the woods
Alive and breathing new found future
All one has to do is work through the pain in the hand of scythe
To mow down the numerous thoughts that linger there
A gait of pure frivolity when the moment so calls for wine
A stride in the heat of the furnace, my toe numbing pine
Of ones escape into a coordinated flee, nigh’ a full out gallop
Into the unknown territory you’ve been holding your breath for
And now young man with your Thoreau hat, your coals alive for the week,
Your tattered Chekhov in hand, may you find your sleep
I look to the Radio Telescopes, to the love of a woman
To come out of the woods, a radiotelegraphy of hope
For what has one gandered from this to come out of the woods
Alive and breathing new found future
All one has to do is work through the pain in the hand of scythe
To mow down the numerous thoughts that linger there
To come out of the woods, a radiotelegraphy of hope
To come out of the woods, a radiotelagraphy of hope
(brown) mustard bastard
