paper..
plastered me,
empty bottles never lasted me..
& when sparks fly
it's 4th of July;
and our nation's famous Uncle
is tugging on our pockets.
we let it burn -
tree's for gasoline,
ironic isn't
the word for adding fuel to the fire..
wealthy in the sense of -
using a renewable & unlimited object,
to remove the bigger worry..
& when the worry is gone,
we'll dig our hole even deeper
until the other-side of the rainbow
is reached; still out of reach.
paper..
Gave us the nautilus
and the nautical mile
It offered tissues
For our despair
And an alternative to coins, and phrases
Like ‘money doesn’t grow on trees’
It’s a factory made fabric -
smithed in the guild
of the little furry green greedies
And they always get their way
I’m a reserved man
With a countenance of Carnegie steel
and the iron will… of, umm
some other long lost mechanical mogul
Your dreams
have been rendered confetti of the psyche
First verse - Jonathon
Second verse - halfshavenbanana