People try so hard to make it through the day,
Listless sheets of feeling, like stains along the road,
The heart would break for every face if you let it,
The unreachable, individual madnesses,
The brave in not knowing, the strong in being wrong,
Forbearing themselves without forgiveness,
Wanting others without a way to trust,
Wanting others without a way to trust,
Sensing mercy in the turning of machines,
Chasing information, in a mess of tossed-off messages,
Like the sniff of cheese, with the will to twist
The surface noise to meaning. The fountains bubble,
As if to tell the story, but they drown in moving engines
To become a larger structure, clattering with patterns,
Like the sniff of cheese, with the will to twist
The surface noise to meaning. The fountains bubble,
As if to tell the story, but they drown in moving engines
To become a larger structure, clattering with patterns,
Something for the palm fronds to comprehend
And for the sun to finger through mesquite
A tune, what lantana blows to blue agave hands.
A tune, what lantana blows to blue agave hands.
