I ache for the warmth
of a midsummer day
and the slow rocking rhythm
of a hammock's sway
All Winter's gloom
on clouds far away
and if left up to me
that's where it would stay

Wise man say
It is much easier
To practice acceptance
Of the world’s imperfection
Within the silence of meditation

There’s a stone cold figure
At the edge of the river
Helping poor souls get aboard
His hell-bound ferry
Takes all it can carry
Down to the Black Bottom Gorge


Oh Black Bottom
Oh Black Bottom
Don’t you fret none
Cause I done got ‘em
The ferryman softly sings


If they don’t know by now
Why they’re here or how
They ain’t never gonna
Learn a **** thing

If I could only
Ignore the ego long enough
To listen to the voice of reason
I could stare into the yellow of the flame
And know that which seems to elude me

I can fancy myself a painter
Standing where the sea meets the shore
With my feet in the sand
and a brush in my hand
the canvas as an open door

to an ocean of abandoned dreams

These bullies
Of pragmatic reality
Mean to be the death
of all dreams
For they will not rest
Until they’ve done their best
To destroy that which glitters and gleams

I see blue trees
in orange skies
Papered houses
and country sides
Yellow breezes
from shores nearby
Pushing silver crests
on purple tides
A world imbued
with brilliant dyes
Gazing into
her kaleidoscope eyes