like some crows do

Striving to fly,

In a straight line,

      like some crows do,

                 like some crows do,

Walking through a desert, and gaining nothing,

                             Especially traction

                            Except traction

While your pockets fill up with sand and birds that are flying away from winter,

They will bounce around for awhile, but then they will go to sleep.

Your mouth still is singing though,

your mouth is always singing,

Singing about how the sun is shining a little too brightly,

                                               Singing about Atlantis and the rest of

Walking through a jungle, and gaining nothing.

knifing through these jungles,

Swinging on vines and drinking from waterfalls,

Listening to the sound of home-runs being hit, in these jungles.

On radios that are not in these jungles.

on radios you do not even own,

staggering while doing so,

                           limping towards civilization,

towards all the towers and the lights and the empty buildings, and the campfires,

a spring in your step now,

still striving to fly in a straight line,

                                                                               Not quite flying in a straight line,

 like some crows do,

                    like some crows do,



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