The Center (see comments)
posted by Zook at 2:17 PM
Sunday, January 16, 2005
About Me
- Name: Zook
- Location: Paradise, Waits
Thought I heard a blackird singing Up on Bluebird Hill Call me a whinin' boy if you will Born where the sun don't shine And I don't deny my name Got no place to go, ain't that a shame? Thought I heard that KC whistle Moaning sweet and low Thought I heard that KC when she blow Down where the sun don't shine Underneath the Kokomo Whinin' boy got no place to go S.m.r. I tell you s.m.r. I know Mountain high, river wide S.m.r. to ride So many roads Thought I heard a jug band playin' "If you don't... who else will?" From over on the far side of the hill All I know the sun don't shine And the rain refused to fall And you don't seem to hear me when I call Wind inside and the wind outside Tangled in the window blind Tell me why you treat me so unkind Down where the sun don't shine Lonely and I call your name No place left to go, ain't that a shame? S.m.r. I tell you New York to San Francisco So many roads I know All I want is one to take me home From the high road to the low So many roads I know From the land of the midnight sun Where the ice blue roses grow Along those roads of gold and silver snow Howlin' wide or moaning low S.m.r. I know So many roads to ease my soul (R. Hunter)
Previous Posts
- Prayer (words in comments)
- Zook's run down, cheesy, seedy faithful thrift sto...
- The End of the Road (words in comments)
- Let it go (words in comments)
- Heaven today (words in comments)
- From my backyard again - winter time
- From my backyard - winter time
- From my backyard - summer time
- MACHO - MACHO MAN
- Zukey - just look at that face (the green eyes are...
1 Comments:
THE CENTER 12-11-04
I AM MOVING TO THE CENTER
NOT TOO HIGH, NOT TOO LOW
PLANTED FIRMLY ON THE GROUND
TO THE CENTER OF MYSELF
NOT TOO HAPPY, I’M NOT TOO SAD
NOT TOO ANGRY, AND I’M NOT TOO CALM
NOT TOO WORRIED, NOT TOO RELAXED
TO THE CENTER OF MYSELF
NOT TOO MUCH SUSPENSE, NOR MYSTERY
NOT TOO MUCH HAPPINESS OR MISERY
NOT ANTICIPATING TOO MUCH, CUS’ I CAN WAIT
NOT TOO MUCH LOVE, NOR TOO MUCH HATE
NOT TOO MUCH HUNGER, NOR TOO MUCH FOOD
THERE IS MORE TO MYSELF, THAN MY PRESENT MOOD
NOT THE END OF THE WORLD, WHEN THINGS GO WRONG
I CAN KEEP ON SINGING THIS SAME OLD SONG
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