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The day will come when the stars decide they've shined too long
And blink once to send a warning message our way;
But, blind as the city brights can make us, we'll not likely see a thing
And when the craters smoke with our remains, we'll wonder what had been
That took its hand of gallant strength and threw down stones of death;
When all of this has made its mark, or, rather, just before-
I only hope that I will have settled all scores
When the world finally lets out its sighs,
Like an ancient box of whine, whose complaints are finally free,
My body can go without hesitation if inside it is the knowledge
Of all I'd done equaling all I'd wished to do in life;
If that's the case, I know now that by then
I'll be a fool for love and creation and spend all eternity
In heaven, hell, or nothingness, making poems, songs, and all else
That could ever show me who I am, and show up any challenge
On the night that grips us hard, with claws as sharp as steel blades
And the same one that'll storm 'til all deserts become everglades,
I'll put a strap over my shoulder, and a red rose in my jacket's pocket,
Near the lapel and near my heart, to tell the world my final song is on its way;
Then, I'll remove the pick I often carry behind my right cheek,
Stroking with my right hand, as the sinister one draws different shapes
Upon the frets, up and down the neck, of a guitar that glows
With rows of heaven sent and golden, bowed strings, extending bottom to top
And ending where its head and mine become one, when the music takes me;
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