Wyld Thyng
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Lyrics
Storm is dying and the shingles shake but do not quiver
The waves are known to slap misting kisses down by the docks
And the world is awhirl with the faces of the weeping reporters
And the wind is not quite calm and given to gusts of wrath
And I've worn the wrong coloured shirt to your fancy supper
At the other end of the bridges the children whip stones at the cops
Their shields held still and reflecting the sky as it waters
The streets are yours but allow me a permit to walk
You who would wait inside
You might just be waiting too long
Don thy apparel and glide
Out like a swan dressed in a song
And the cans come crashing
Through the windows of a stained-glass apartment
Glittering teeth of a gold burro skitter and stop
That reminds me a of a story of a man who once had a library
And strung it up on his favourite donkey's back
Luis who snapped his leg falling from his donkey to a pothole
Bandits in the branches, oh rubbing their hands in expectant glee
Luis who snapped his leg falling from his donkey to a pothole
Trying to ride his library down to the sea
And I who should be outside
I who should be throwing those cans
And I who have always weighed sides
Should throw my prodigious voice into the stands
Wyld thyng