Sigh
06-12-2001, 03:57 AM
The Singer approaches the microphone.
I could not see you once
So I could not concieve your meaning.
A stranger lights a match
An event so spontaneously rapturous
that I can only stare
captivated by dazzling fire,
searing sound and blazing light
makes a strangers face a work of art
then obscures it in billowing smoke
like a magician hides his illusion
(and a strangers face returns)
We always think our awareness full,
but it increases
beyond our ability to comprehend
when every crease of every leaf
offers new meaning to our existence
until eventually we must concede
fall into the mad ecstasy of being
an infinitesimal part of a teeming whole
A bar. One hundred sweaty people
whose conversations, thoughts and preoccupations
emanate into the ether, a ceaseless cacophony
for aeons to unravel
Our lives flickering candles
whose brilliance is tenuous
together radiate an incandescence
something like God, I think.
The Singer approaches the microphone.
A shriek of feedback and a guitar rings
full of age and grace,
The Singer Sings.
Tones cracked and worn as roads
while words twist and jostle rhymes
of life and love and work and death.
I can see you now.
I am utterly obliterated in this moment.
Utterly original as I recognize I saw you
long before I howled my first breath.
The harmonica drags fugitives back from the bush
a dervish whirls, possessed for sure
I can see you in the polished wood beneath my beer-mat
I can hear you in the drunken singing of the crowd
I can feel you in the music that ignites the room
I can taste you and in the air that I breathe
I can touch you for sure and yeah, I will dance.
Yes, sweet mercury, we will dance.
I could not see you once
So I could not concieve your meaning.
A stranger lights a match
An event so spontaneously rapturous
that I can only stare
captivated by dazzling fire,
searing sound and blazing light
makes a strangers face a work of art
then obscures it in billowing smoke
like a magician hides his illusion
(and a strangers face returns)
We always think our awareness full,
but it increases
beyond our ability to comprehend
when every crease of every leaf
offers new meaning to our existence
until eventually we must concede
fall into the mad ecstasy of being
an infinitesimal part of a teeming whole
A bar. One hundred sweaty people
whose conversations, thoughts and preoccupations
emanate into the ether, a ceaseless cacophony
for aeons to unravel
Our lives flickering candles
whose brilliance is tenuous
together radiate an incandescence
something like God, I think.
The Singer approaches the microphone.
A shriek of feedback and a guitar rings
full of age and grace,
The Singer Sings.
Tones cracked and worn as roads
while words twist and jostle rhymes
of life and love and work and death.
I can see you now.
I am utterly obliterated in this moment.
Utterly original as I recognize I saw you
long before I howled my first breath.
The harmonica drags fugitives back from the bush
a dervish whirls, possessed for sure
I can see you in the polished wood beneath my beer-mat
I can hear you in the drunken singing of the crowd
I can feel you in the music that ignites the room
I can taste you and in the air that I breathe
I can touch you for sure and yeah, I will dance.
Yes, sweet mercury, we will dance.