miracles masked to mend
|
the literal for illiterates
|
in shady towns
|
people forget
|
|
a union wage
|
that extra tear
|
we overpaid
|
and disappeared
|
without a trace
|
into the voids
|
|
and we hope that someday
|
we'll awaken in our garden
|
to the sound of a new parade
|
|
they celebrate
|
the coming years
|
until that one
|
that we fear
|
it's all numerals
|
and zeros
|
|
and we hope that someday
|
we'll awaken in our garden
|
to the sound of a new parade
|
|
and we hope that someday
|
we'll awaken in our garden
|
push off that war we waged
|
we'll awaken in our garden
|
to the sound of a new parade
|
|
-----------------
|
New Parade
|
| The Sheila Divine |
