the bird that plucked the Olive Leaf has been circling like a record never-ending in my mind where the needle's worn the grooves too deep, and scratched the wax that's blistered from the heat besides so from any movement in the room- if my cat walked by the arm skipped! but to my surprise, my interrupting cat improved a sound already so severely compromised
the needle's worn the grooves too deep
I'm a donkey's jaw on a desert dune beside the bush that Moses saw that burned and yet was not consumed she's the silver coin I lost, I'm the sheep who slipped away we pray the fingers crossed but you listen patiently anyway
I wrote a little song for you with a melody I'd borrowed put to words that didn't rhyme to repeat what you already knew as the stones thrown at your window tapped a syncopated time you kept a distance out of fear you'd break but what good's a single windchime, hanging quiet all alone? the music our collisions would make is a sound that turns the road-that-leads-us-back-home into Home.
the music our collisions make!
I had a rusty spade but I'm not the fighting sort if I was Samson I'd have found that harlot's blade and cut my own hair short! then in a market dimly lit I come casually to pay you see my coins are counterfeit but accept them anyway
so spare me your goodbyes, your waving-handkerchief-good-byes given my tendency to err so on the sentimental side I'll spare you my goodbyes, the truth belongs to G-d, the mistakes were mine