I wake up at five
I go for a walk in the neighbourhood
The world, it looks so calm to me
I see a dream, but I’m not asleep
I listen to the sounds of singing birds
fluttering about without a cause
The wisdom in their carefreeness
reminds me of what we used to be

I come home too soon
leaving bluebottles for barricades
Wise men fight over bragging rights
they can’t stand diversity
I read what common men say
of the things that are dear to me
Their scornful words brush away
the sunshine of the early day

I go to bed at ten
I worry myself sick when I
think of these things I can’t understand
They just don’t make sense to me
Is it me or is it what I see
that insists on driving this wedge
between myself and reality
Lost in a forest where there are no trees

I close my eyes
I look at places I used to know
but I only see red fire
It makes me wish I was blind
I can’t turn away
from this funeral pyre
started by little men
hiding behind a desk

Now when I go
out for that morning walk
the birds have been silenced
replaced by old dogs
blaming one another
for their own misdeeds
but they never step in the line of fire
The beavers are the ones who have to suffer

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