Wise man say: “There are too many ways to look the fool without
arguing with one.”

Careful now
make not a mistake
It’s only your hide
the skinner wants to take
Ready to pounce
it won’t think twice
to be all over you
like white on rice

Old things for new
Old things for new
Cried a poor peddler
through a high province of Peru
He thought of the story
of the rain that got in
It filled the world up
to wash away sin
It was but an ark
that had saved not the least
of all that were chosen
from man and the beasts
And how had that mattered
in the Andes of Peru?
Long after the water
could reach Machu Picchu

Cradled in the arms
of Glenda herself
I could sleep
Sleep like I may never wake
or want to
for the rest is needful
and the dreams devine
I could bathe in the comfort
of clover and poppies
at the foot of Emerald City
waiting to hear the good witch tell me
“Good night sweet prince”

May we one day be toasting
the bright, morning sun
with the blessed chalice
full of nectarine dew
And if our quest
should test our resolve
raise a cup in its place
when the day is through

I err,
therefore I am

I can see the world
through a murky lens
clouded by storms
of my making
And if I am cursing
that which I can’t see
then, it’s only myself
I’m forsaking