there's an old man talkin
|
to a young boy weepin
|
to an old man shaking his head
|
there's a cool gentle breeze
|
in the night full of light
|
as the red glow wavers in the stead
|
there's a black man crying
|
and a white man dyin
|
and a black man's head in the air
|
the shock of life
|
feeds the fight
|
the fight that's in my head
|
holding tight in the stillness of the night
|
in the stillness of my thoughts
|
yet, I know I've only started
|
|
beating on a tin drum marching to a sound
|
what is it I think?
|
am I beating on a tin drum marching to a cause
|
when I don't know what it is I believe
|
|
lonely peeping chick
|
calling to his mother
|
runs amuck
|
in a sunken black ditch
|
and wilham's with the widow
|
while martha's in the meadow
|
and the lamb is a layin in sick
|
and the boy in back
|
is talking some slack
|
to the king of auld lang syne
|
and my heart goes out
|
but I cannot spout what I do not know inside
|
holding tight in the stillness of my mind
|
in the stillness of my thought
|
yet, I know I've only started
|
|
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|
Tin Drum
|
| Toni Childs |
