listen to the rain
in some nondescript corner
(well, i guess you can describe anything if you've got the mind)\
beneath all the noise, smoke, and not all that accurate memory,
sits the vulnerable key that i grope for
trying to escape the tiring hard men and women
they are very predictable, and after two seconds,incredibly boring.
the vulnerable key doesn't bullshit too much,
although vulnerable men and women are capable of bullshit
but not in the same heightened volumes of the hard men and women
who strut up and down claiming being hard has made them
complete human experiences.
in some ongoing process of a deepening hole,
i see things that maybe i remember
i see things that may never have remembered me
i can't tell you all the names of the staggering people
i think i might have been staggering right in all of them
and when you get to staggering
it's all one dance, with no need to worry about names or
resumes.
but my stagger can also assume a straight line, for
maybe a few seconds, but straight we can play it.
the big kleig lights go around trying to find out
what we all look like.
the hard men and women want to teach us vulnerable fools
how to stiffen up and become as hard as they think they are.
they go around with their lights and documents
trying to make us all hard forever.
don't you sometimes wonder how all that hard washes off
when it rains. and the hard men and women turn out
to be nothing more than mud masquerading as
concrete. don't it feel okay to feel that rain washing
your face? listen to it now, it came to sing you
this song you thought you forgot. listen to it good now,
and remember what your bones and skin did when you
heard that song.
we come upstairs from the mud, said Chuck Darwin.But
then he went and tried to explain Hard. How you get it
and survive. I see the hard men and women, and they
might seem to be surviving, but there's something
not quite human in their tenor when they open their
mouths to tell you wonderful it is being so hard.
they haven't stood in the rain long enough just yet.
they haven't listened to the rain.
we're just the mud of a spoiled petulant god,
hanging out in the playpen,
making up rules,stories,and visions
we're just the sacred mud of love
listening for the rain
---Scott Wannberg
(listening to guitar town, steve earle) |
