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Fred |
In the raucous polity,
These words don’t make to try.
What I feel you know
Every day every day every day.
I see the world making love to itself,
but it can be brought to maraud.
Where man’s oneself is not there to find
all the mazes tried before the arena,
It is better to steer closely
to the firmly wringing twist-twirl
of a melting evening.
II.)
What we pray tell see is the minutiae:
Grass blades in a hardgone forest,
mindside on the balcony hit on.
And on the porch,
set long and fine in the indigo montage.
Livingloving in disaster,
It doesn’t make for anything unique
as it’s always.
The excess fear is baggage claimed.
Minus all the subsides and memories changed.
Don’t tell me about certain actors.
It doesn’t matter to be true
as long as it is in.
It doesn’t make sense that we’re here to know what you have to extend
We’re just here as friends to go back and get together to our own lives
We will go back to resume what we started.
III.)
We didn’t cross countries
Or raise mallets.
We didn’t come armed
with helltopay invalid.
We don’t have to go round about these things.
We can be steadfirm.
We can be brought to maraude.
You’ve brought us your finest truth
even without the guarantee
that it might not even matter.
- Originally written and performed by Dalia Malek, remixed by Frederick Ghansah.
Labels: Fred
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