D-Squared

If I was a little bird
A sparrow sure I’d be
A tiny voice, a simple song
But happy would I be
To sing most joyously

If I was a bumblebee
Buzzin’ round the bowers
In pantaloons of pollen sweet
I’d wile away the hours
Dancin’ with the flowers

If I was a common moth
No fancy flutterby wings
I’d powder softly through the night
To fragrant offerings
And what the moon might bring

Each has a name here
Each has a place here
Each one under the sun
A part of forever
Apart and together
A part of everyone

And if I was a blade of grass
Growing straight and tall
The prairie beasts that thunder by
Would love me best of all
To feed the summer all

If I was a bit of clay
With shiny specks of sand
I’d bless the fires of the kiln
And bend beneath the hand
Of artists great and grand

A new song by Deb exploring the ongoing push-pull relationship with her muse.

When the sky
Is hot and dry
I can’t seem to find
My way back to you

In this world
No one keeps their word
And the promised bird
Flies away from you

There’s no sleep on this bed of nails
Bitter weeping and keening wails
Oohoo oohoo oohoo
Oohoo oohoo oohoo
Oohoo oohoo oohoo

Water’s deep
And minds are weak
And the raven beaks
Her way back to you

Bluey bright
Burn the stars at night
And the blindman’s light
Shines the way for you

Tattered prose in the silence rages
Forgotten rose ‘tween the empty pages
Oohoo oohoo oohoo
Oohoo oohoo oohoo
Oohoo oohoo oohoo

When the sky
Is clear and wide
The raven flies
Calling out to you

Oohoo oohoo oohoo
Oohoo oohoo oohoo
Oohoo oohoo oohoo

They’re shooting up the desert tonight down in Little Iraq
Some of the boys going out there will not be coming back
They’ll drown in a dry wash of shotgun shells and beer
With the sound of freedom still ringing in their ears
In their ears

The dudes in the diesels come spoiling for a fight
They circle ’round the campfires hunting for Friday night
Every now and then you can hear ‘em bogging down
Where the sand gets soft cussing their luck and
Pushing that truck that they do not dare turn off
Do not dare turn off

The moon rises yellow hooded like a weeping eye
Tired of dripping light down on the scenery sliding by
On the AK47s and the shot to shit tvs
If it’s shiny we shoot at it my country tis of thee
Oh my country tis of thee sweet land of liberty
Of thee I sing

Dawn brings the deputy to survey the battle scars
Beating the thickets writing tickets to unabandoned dogs and cars
It’s the only quiet of the day and he wants to be gone real soon
Nobody’s dying to be high sheriff of this country
At high noon

The quadrunners and the ghostriders start gunning their engines
The shiny plastic helmets make them look like little aliens
Popping wheelies in the river bottom ’til the dust just chokes the air
And mom follows behind with the sandwiches’cause it’s a family affair
It’s a family affair

My grandpa showed me this country when I was a kid
Saguaros soldiered everywhere
Now they only march on the mountains and the few
That are left down there in the flats are peppered
With bullets the size of golfballs buried in the rotting wood
And if you’re the one with the biggest gun
I guess you just call that good

Yeah and everyone else is evil everyone else is wrong and
If you won’t fight for what is right then you simply don’t belong
And we do not feel for pulses and we do not feel for pain
Pay very close attention listen to the rhythm of the fallen reign
Telling me what a fool I’ve been
What a fool I’ve been

They’re shooting up the desert tonight down in Little Iraq
Some of the boys going out there will not be coming back
They’ll drown in a dry wash of shotgun shells and beer
With the sound of freedom still ringing in their ears
In their ears, in their ears
The sound of freedom