From the recording Small Birds of Sound
Weaving; the web is like a rhyme.
The spider bides her time.
Makes sense in the unfolding.
Toast, you gotta butter while it's hot.
Don’t pop it if it's not.
See the heated coils glowing.
Odd and even are the same.
It’s best not to play the game,
‘Til you've hung around awhile.
If you don't step on any toes,
And wear your snappy clothes,
They might give you points for style.
Don’t worry that your words
Or your deeds ring true.
Shed your skin now and then
Or you’ll stick like glue.
Antics that are way beyond the pale;
Someday you’ll all wind up in jail.
And the sooner than the better.
Follow the money to its source.
Now you know who sets the course,
And you’ll follow to the letter.
Leaves around the flower give me pause.
Their shape bespeaks a cause.
Prefer the bird without the cage.
Let’s take a quick dip in the stream,
So much older than it seems.
Telling jokes about the ice age.
Tuning your imperfect self,
Gets you ship shape soon.
Listen to your imperfect self ,
Playing out of tune.
Show us all the things that you’ve learned.
It’s what you love most.
Wonder at the mysteries of bees;
Honey for your buttered toast.