Song of My Brother - Rod MacDonald
There's no home in this world anymore for a gentleman
an inmate in a tuxedo
strolling with indifferent partners beneath the chandelier
looking for someone to bleed to
but I would be your gentleman if you would only let this ragged heart please you
and there would be laughter,
there would be shame
there would laughter
in a gentleman again
Come riding riding riding
come running for your life
come take this song of my brothers
come take this healing knife
There's no home in this world anymore for a saint
with a salesman to franchise his sandals
to heal the faithful and hear all their complaints
in the theaters of Los Angeles
to stand in the garden and ask for nothing
there's nothing that would ever be more dangerous
there will be robes and gowns,
there will be saints
there will be magic clowns
dressed for the masquerade
My brothers are the ragged bones of volcanoes
piled as the walls of loneliness
my brothers are the scattered chunks of tombstones
like weeds on abandoned mountains
my brothers are the windows of the hurricane
that open on everyday heroes
there will be brutal times,
there will be grace
there will be diamond eyes,
the lights of an eloquent face
But there's no home in this world anymore for a wanderer,
a waistcoat a bow and arrow
a pi0oneer on the trails in the hills of Cumberland
riding logs on the river Ohio
but I seek another highway where they
learn to heal the wings of a wounded sparrow
come stand before this fire,
glowing on your skin
come take these searching eyes
someplace they've never been