Hidey-Hidey-Hidey-**
Wiggely-Wiggly-Wiggly-Woe

Going out on run, in the full Sun
Helmet on my head, both hands on my... Rifle,

If you said "gun", drop and give your weapon 10 of your best pushups.
If this ain't fun, call you mom, call your dad, at mile ten they can pick you up.

Hidey-Hidey-Hidey-No
Wiggely-Wiggly-Wiggly-Woe

Sound off ...
one,...  two,...  three,...  four,..  one,two,... three,four

I'll keep running when my legs turn to jelly
I'll finish this run, crawling on my belly

How far?
All the way!

You gonna quit??
No Way! Not today!!

Sound off ...
one,...  two,...  three,...  four,..  one,two,... three,four

one mile down nine to go!
just warming up on the road.

Hidey-Hidey-Hidey-**
Wiggely-Wiggly-Wiggly-Woe

Don't let your rifle hit the ground,
When you need it most it might let you down.

Hold your rifle above your head
Yes sir, but I'd rather be dreaming in my bed

Sound off ...
one,...  two,...  three,...  four,..  one,two,... three,four

Hidey-Hidey-Hidey-**
Wiggely-Wiggly-Wiggly-Woe

Are we there yet?
Closer than we were, you bet!

"Glory be to God for dappled things,"
from this point on,  plucked thin heart strings,
broken hearted blues, smooth as whiskey, for IT burns and the heart has no memory,

Hug the person, not the day, be the tortise shell pattern, that stops the
ocean in its' tracks.
Sit on a curb in a distant place, counting bullet casings, as no one cares about how many tear drops
have fallen,

Swirl the red wine in the bowl of glass and watch the glass bleed back into the wine,
And stretch out on the pattern of shadows as sunset catches, resets, and  releases,

and yes you and your lonely spirit, search high and low for an identity, and want to read language poetry, so you can misunderstand the meaning and have an excuse,
but be a wind instrument, the world around you plays the notes, He wrote the song, sings along, and without you, there would be no music, at all
for those who need to meet you yet.

moon beams read all the stories to the children at night as they
went to bed, not sleepy

the Underjordiske were everywhere they could cause a fray, always
acting out and creepy

and lost people from far away have stories to tell
but eyes, echo against safe canyon walls, they are lost too,

And the Earth gives a beautiful sigh out my window, and the branches and leaves say "again, do it again, do"

I let my self drift on the Columbia River, an inner tube swollen with the air from the smelter on the steep banks of that place called home

and here the clear and cold night snaps me out of my reverie
for just a moment, I see the gloaming

the dream, I had as a child climbing mountains all,
ones that scratched the belly of the sky

from there I would see all the longboats there that ever floated
on any ocean or any bay with sails on mast high, flags to fly

and the bright lit ones would be the funeral pyres
lighting the way to the Rainbow Bridge,
"Odin, Ve, can you hear me?"

big dreams that don't fit in small houses and needles
from the street won't pick locks but pierce lives, lost souls of the sea

and my past is a lover that lets me sleep at the foot
of her bed, curled up on a cushion of Dogwood flowers,

every morning to wake up in a different alley and walk just long
enough to see that I am lost, powerless

but i fear that this is savagely wrong
and there is no music in here to sooth the beast  

standing so close to border of reality that I
hear all the illegal crossings scream, West to East

and Belugas gently drop
into the deep part of the
of the River Fraser where I wait, they leave
me her letter and take the bait
and she said "she didn't think
I would mind if she found someone
else, as the distance and time was further
than she first thought", and the tears...
filled that flow since, and through time

Empty

at my feet helmets, two, both an ancient one, a new
one, i light the letter divided in half light the paper on fire
and
my great great great grandfather says as he
turns away saying "there is no shade in the shadow of the cross"

And in the end I will wander and squander my final moments selfish
I will grab from some past notion to choose motion by walking
   Thru pain and sorrow will convince me that tomorrow is enough
      Terminal diagnosis will drive me from the world spouting profane
Words down the street, into the woods, clothing optional
regrets hold on all the deeds left undone
save for knowing my roots laid bare
the maelstrom inside will rain tears
start speaking sounds of darkness,
from lips garbed white
hear the words
if I...
Aye