You’re the Moon that shone light onto the stable.
You’re the Moon that saw the meteor come.
You’re the Moon who puzzled the minds of pharaohs.
You’re the Moon who Columbus relied upon.
You’re the Moon who inspired Pink Floyd’s ‘dark’ album.
You’re the Moon who Marilyn Monroe looked upon.
You’re the Moon who Paddy Mayne watched roll over the desert.
You’re the Moon who Michael Jackson’s walk came from.
You’re the Moon who saw the burning of the monasteries.
You’re the Moon who disguised the Allies greatest armada.
You’re the Moon who controls the the tides of our oceans.
You’re the Moon who all life on this planet depends upon.
Something magical in time.
Something beautiful in our lives.
Something Jesus Christ gazed on with wide eyes.
Something Columbus watched every night.
Something on which Scott would mark with his life.
Something Elvis saw when he’d see the Memphis skyline.
Something that Armstrong invested in with years of his life.
Something that caught Davinci’s inquisitive mind.
Something that Peake knows fires the imagination of the most brilliant of minds.
Something that controls the oceans most ferocious tides.
Something that you can see on this night.
Hillary saw it clearer than ever you will or I.
Mayne used its light to guide his missions to fight for the freedom of our lives.
Moses knew of its power to the dark mind.
Pink Floyd explored the meaning of its dark side.
Spielberg framed E.T. fly in its magical light.
A moon that has held the minds of so many legends in time.
Something there for you every day of your life.
Something magical in your time.
whoomp told whoompa, whoomp, whoomp whoop!
whoompa whoompa, whoomp, whoomp, whoop!
yo so
reely dough?
enjoyed the flow?
naw mayne, hell know!
the tempo aint right
the subject is wrong.
you sampled a classic
you ruined the song
THE DOGWOOD BASSOON
WAS PAINTED PURPLE
THE ENDS WERE A
FRESH WHITE
A BEAUTIFUL PEICE
WITH PERFECTLY POLISHED BRASS.
THE ARTIST SIGNUTURE
WAS ETCHED INTO
THE LABEL.
HE'S WEIRD
IF WE SAY HE'S WEIRD
AND DECRIBE WHAT HE DOES
WE CAN EXPLOT THE SITUATION
TO MAKE A FOOL OF HIM!
THEY TEASED HIM FOR HAVING
A PURPLE BASSOON
THE GENIUNE LEATHER CASE
HE SHINED EVERY DAY
HAD BEEN TORN
WE WANTED TO KNOW WHO DID IT!
SHE TOLD HIM
IF YOU KEEP PLAYING YO' PINK FLUTE
'M GONNA TAKE IT AND
BREAK IT ACROSS MY KNEE
OR HOW ABOUT THIS THE PAWN SHOP
YOU LITTLE PUSSYWILLOW CHUMP PUNK!
THE ENZYNES IN MY YEAST INFECTION
ARE MORE MAN THEN YOU ARE !
The fire that others fear
is the heat i long to bear...
I usually have despair
but anyway who cares??
This life cant be so fair
Everything is going wrong
and its kinda taking long.
I feel like an old worn out shoe
i am not very new. .
Its like am in the wrong place
and everything is happening in some
kind of race...
Keeping up with things today,
is harder than my words can say
for every time i think am strong
there i fall on many thorns...
and all i can tell me is that am
Human so i pick up my personal
pieces and rise again..
Life is like a maze
so i just sit here and gaze
i sit all by myself for no one can
understand better than i ..
Am amazed.....
Anyway, my wrist is the prisoner
holding in my life's blood.
I ponder the emptiness of my
own existence...
its like nobody loves me....
I must belong somewhere
i need to show who i really am
but mayne......
there's too many words i can't spell
my slick slippery heel is a banana peel
Maybe someday i will heal
from these feelings down here
No one will understand,
definitely not in this land....
D street daydreams,
watered down time,
diluted with a soured lime,
streaming like faces,
caught in tour bus windows,
shading eyes from mid day light,
a winking glint on distant water,
faint gulls cry winging over,
far off sand dunes like snowy plover,
wind blown hinting,
salt and sea,
as laughter floats formless,
flotsam on warm custard breezes,
sunlit sound of summers,
backlit like animated mummers,
captured in an iced tea lemon,
told on a melting sno-cone,
thrashed with an elephant's ear,
boardwalk dusk fallow,
shadows flow down to barnacled piling,
tidal flow pounding rhythmically beguiling,
captured moths in a porchlight,
buzzing backbeat arc lamps,
forms flit on a sultry street,
walking stilted looking back,
the grinding rasp of memory's regret,
those fog bound wraiths that never forget,
a young time touched by a different sun,
warm sand hourglass that couldn't run out,
west coast jubilee could never end...
it ends...
at the corner of D street and Mayne.