In the Land of Old Pajamas
When a ladder leaps like a lady bug
and the patterns turn away
Where the coffee needs an electric plug
now on any given day
Will the sun outlast it’s father
as the field comes round the bend
Till the winds forget to bother
and the season calls an end
Collected like a postage stamp
that's far too sharp to lick
Or a Sunday at a summer camp
just pulling off a tick
Found along some checkered highway
in a bag thrown in the air
Can you count the lonely buttons
that are tangled in your hair
Now I feel the lamp light burning
as the banjos start to wail
When the stars at night are churning
and a comet cuts its tail
Will you stand beside me waiting
for the promises I keep
In the land of old pajamas
that shall find us in our sleep
Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2021
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