Morning Song, Part 1 (Broken Teeth)
The sun breaks the horizon
casting new shadows over the land that is my home,
casting new shadows of trees and summer and Colorado
and dreams. The dreams come…
I speak with broken teeth
and the sea is now my silence.
The sea swells and churns and burns
away the weathered memories like driftwood, like driftwood.
I speak through broken teeth
as I tell of what I’ve been through, and yet, I am just a person.
My ink may run dry but my heart still beats
I came with broken teeth but my hands are my weapon.
To whom it may concern, I’m here, I’m now and the world still turns.
The gravity of it all has to do with what we perceive as reality
and what we allow ourselves to perceive as illusionary
representation of the ordinary or a guise of the extraordinary.
Troops in an army march on, and I, just the jester, juggling emotions
like knife blades and bowling pins in court for the father and the son.
I, just the jester, here to tell you the joke that looks an awful lot like my childhood.
The troops march on, fulfilling things that they think they want to fulfill
and I stand here in my bells.
I came with broken teeth, to tell you a joke, but ended up showing you my childhood.
We went back to the places that once were my stomping grounds,
where I showed you how to live like a native, how to eat like a local
and how to best represent the foreign lands of Texas, while staying as a ambassador in Indiana.
We went back…
We went down back roads like some old country song and we’d even sing along even though no words came out.
We sing the songs of piling into a pickup and driving to Steak and Shake, even though it was, oh so late,
like middle of the night munchies and pulls from whiskey; like it was when I was young and when I was holder of the keys.
And I showed you the garage, that I wrote about, that still stands that still creates stories that I, now, hear about.
Baby, I’m not a love story but maybe I am a tale, of war, or of hate, or of love and of loathing.
I found God once and it wasn’t ’til the very end that I realized that my God looks an awful lot like you.
He looks an awful lot like you
and I sing with broken teeth, and the sea is silence
and the sea swells and you become my muse.