I sit myself down in my old comfy chair.
Its soft seat now worn down and bare.
I watch as the Jester pokes fun
at the gestures and rhythms
of the dead and or dying.
She communes with a sheak,
Whom we'd all like to meet,
Just to keep herself from further crying.
Nobody knows why her tears never show,
and that smile keeps glowing, radiantly so,
but regardless of nature, I think we all know
that our family is special, especially though.
There are angels falling from the sky,
and shadows cast by highly heavens.
Rose petals float on idly by.
Man, times like these are trying.
The essence of life is all about timing
and speaking your mind, rather than miming
its all about planting your feet hard in the ground
and holding on tightly as your world is unwound.
This is OUR place, our haven, our shrine,
Its like a restaurant where we come to dine
where the food is served hot
and picky or not
we all leave feeling fulfilled.
It's like the melodies of buzzing bees
that sting and fly by big oak trees
where together they all buzz and buzz
and all their voices turn to fuzz
that makes your head ache and spin.
But bit by bit, piece by piece,
one by one, and week by week.
You learn a bit about each one.