Well, Hey Mr. McGrath,
Did you hear the rumor from those distant shores?
A black cat sang a loathsome ballad, talking of destruction and old, broken down routines.
This world’s gettin’ too small for me, man.
Time for me to split ‘fore the comet hits.
Maybe then me and some friends,
Will tell the of ol’ legends,
Songs of young men,
The lonesome leader’s dreams,
Tyranny of green, the tragedies of greed.
And behold the fine young man in graduation robes.
“I’ll do anything if I can.
I got my own future, you see.
I wanna pursue my dreams,
Then maybe,
Have a family of three,
When I’m done with all that.”
Enter the elderly man.
Worn with sadness and defeated expression.
I say, “Hey man, you done or something?”
He just hit his sixties, far as I can tell.
He says, “Lemme tell ya young man your generation’s gonna save de whole world from hell.” And I didn’t know what he meant then.
Anyway I took my guitar and drifted around.
Said to myself, “Man, this ain’t my kind of town.”
I came upon a city of white.
And I see the President, his tie undone, he says, “Hey Mr. Moonlight, could you spare me a light?”
I obliged.
I thought ,”Strange indeed” how I had a pack on me, being that I don’t smoke.
And he smiled as the sky turned red,
And he said,
“Well, there’s something for change and hope.”
Down a few blocks I slid down a vortex,
And soon stood amongst the desperate and the poor,
And they didn’t seem all too phased.
For they’d seen chaos before.
The moment they were born, or when they came home from war.
One of the patrons was very old,
As he looked at me with a stare so cold.
“If all’s can’t be equal in the minds of men,” he said,
“Or through institutions of the government,
Then this chaos is a Godsend.
For no man rules another in the Kingdom of Heaven.”
I arrived at a stump to think about things,
And come upon an old woman with her diamond ring.
She say “My goodness, it’s awfully hot out here!”
I double take for just a second,
And notice the paleness of her complexion.
Her skin, I realize is transparent!
And so we sit alone and together,
A wandering young man and a lost old specter,
Stranded and silent before the falling sun.
And as she motions forward in her enduring march of the free, and
Heading toward those thick forest trees,
She smiles lightly looking back at me.
“So long ol’ boy”, she says with her grin.
“Let me know when the King comes shakin’ on home.
Let me know when the dust settles and the wounds are sewn.
When, like saxophones which gleam so gold,
We reclaim all that is our very own.”
“You might find me way out in the Mojave,
Where rattlesnakes’ll be my company.
And until all stand up and are once again ready,
There you’ll find my spirit clingin’ steady.
Remember my name…cry it out.
‘Liberty, oh sweet Liberty.'”
Ren Michael 