the squirrel crossed the road
|
like a ribbon on a fan
|
and the afternoon cicada
|
threw a spell across this land
|
and the waves rolled off the Georgian rocks
|
and threw a friend upon the sand
|
|
oh None
|
now I understand
|
that the searching never stops
|
until you have a man in mind
|
second booth the King's Head
|
leave the ordinary men behind
|
go ask them to play
|
all the glorious love songs they can find
|
|
as for you, Dewar
|
now I understand
|
that the searching never stops
|
until you have a drink in hand
|
drinking to your gloom
|
in the slow-whirl licensed room
|
ah, yes - she was lovely
|
you told us (many times)
|
'neath the moon
|
|
the squirrel crossed the road
|
like a ribbon on a fan...
|
|
oh Madam
|
now I understand
|
that the searching never stops
|
until things are out of hand
|
then you jump up to heaven
|
pull down the wrath of God
|
you're alive when men are falling down
|
suspended when they're not
|
|
and oh Thomas
|
now I understand
|
that the searching never stops
|
until you are a man
|
whether early morning hunting deer
|
or women in the sand
|
that measured raging overdrive
|
makes you feel alive
|
a man
|
|
the squirrel crossed the road
|
like a ribbon on a fan...
|
|
oh Sal
|
now I understand
|
that the searching never stops
|
until you're in a foreign land
|
haunting yourself at Delphi
|
or melting in Lausanne
|
or good times in Marbella
|
(yes - you have a lovely tan)
|
|
and Oh Little One
|
now I understand
|
that your searching never stops
|
until you leave your head
|
you want peace
|
thank God you laugh at what your friends said
|
they said - barefoot in the Himalayas
|
he'll just find his feet have spread
|
but in you I have greatest faith
|
|
the squirrel crossed the road
|
like a ribbon on a fan
|
and the afternoon cicada
|
threw a spell across this land
|
and the waves rolled off the Georgian rocks
|
and threw a friend upon the sand
|
|
-----------------
|
The Squirrel Crossed The Road
|
Jane Siberry |