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Stacked near your bedside, books you've begun |
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With dog eared good intention they're all suggested by someone |
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Colorful little fictions about animals on parade |
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The lions and crows have unionized and they're marching for wage |
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Andrew became a wanderer |
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Stalked by the bloody hunter |
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And rest for him it was foretold, in a city whose streets are paved with gold |
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The great big depression, machines have won the war |
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The fallow soil, the market crash, and the motor oil |
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The boy flies off westward on star spangled wings |
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And brings back the dawn over the eastern seas |
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Andrew became a wanderer |
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Stalked by the bloody hunter |
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And rest for him it was foretold, in a city whose streets are paved with gold |
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Written on the spine of every holy lowly man, woman, creature and child |
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A love letter in kind |
