Knowledge Speaks but Wisdom Listens...Jimi Hendrix

Right outside this lazy summer homeyou ain't got time to call your soul a critic no.Right outside the lazy gate of winter's summer home,wond'rin' where the nut-thatch winters,wings a mile long just carried the bird away.Wake up to find out that you are the eyes of the world,the heart has it's beaches, it's homeland and thoughts of it's own.Wake now, discover that you are the song that the mornin' brings,But the heart has it's seasons, it's evenin's and songs of it's own.There comes a redeemer, and he slowly too fades away,And there follows his wagon behind him that's loaded with clay.And the seeds that were silent all burst into bloom, and decay,and night comes so quiet, it's close on the heels of the day.Wake up to find out that you are the eyes of the world,the heart has it's beaches, it's homeland and thoughts of it's own.Wake now, discover that you are the song that the mornin' brings,But the heart has it's seasons, it's evenin's and songs of it's own.Sometimes we live no particular way but our own,And sometimes we visit your country and live in your home,sometimes we ride on your horses, sometimes we walk alone,sometimes the songs that we hear are just songs of our own.Wake up to find out that you are the eyes of the world,the heart has it's beaches, it's homeland and thoughts of it's own.Wake now, discover that you are the song that the mornin' brings,But the heart has it's seasons, it's evenin's and songs of it's own.

The Grateful Dead

Dad's Blue Truck

Dad's Blue Truck

Groovy colors spin above me all around they flicker,
My recessive eyes entranced and green amaze to the heavenly maze,
Crystals randomly shaped in random design hanging,
Moving sporadically round and round to Davey Crockett,
He was born in the wild frontier with freedom wrapped blazen,
A Runaway train trucking through marsh and mountain meadows,
The father of man, the son of God became a theme song from birth,
My father's spirit sang to me as my father sang the hymn of liberty,
The strength of twenty strong men inside humility and pride,
His signature clean without smudge without taint but driven pure,
The tales my dad would tell made me who I be,
Im running and searching,
Still held by tender hands,
From the firm to the divine,
Like the random crystals that hang,
They try to make sense from my senses,
So much of it said to me too many times,
Stuck in the backseat of my dad's blue truck....
The stories my dad told me become mine