This is a work in progress.
Bleak Til We Peak
Well I was working on a song for love,
And I was starting to feel shitty,
Thinking about all the effort,
That I‘ve put forth, and how it all goes south rather than north,
And it made me forget who I am
My optimism’s becoming spent.
I was sitting on my porch smoking tobbacco,
And listening for some kind of echo
Of the voice that‘s been screaming inside of me,
And the rain left me feeling glum,
Then I looked to flowers I’d never seen before,
My mom says they’re called Columbines,
Though the name’s now tainted, they made me feel fine,
Because this hummingbird came up,
And he pollinated the flower,
And looked to me, and floated
In suspended animation,
For what felt like forever.
Then I realized there were birds singing all around,
A few in front of me, picking worms from the ground,
And each one had its own song,
And each song was brief and truthful,
My attempts at sadness left me with a mouthful,
So I came in, and wrote this for them
The birds are here to keep us from death;
Their simple beauty made me feel deep rooted
In the world that I’d forgotten of,
No one can top this, no one can take this,
What’s inside of me,
It’s not for you to see,
It’s very private.
But I hope that you find your own hummingbird,
And it hugs you with its eyes.