I can’t say how my spirit came to be.
I grew up in the company of birds.
They came when hands would scatter seeds.
And when they sang, I thought I heard their words.
They seem to say however cold it was,
that living here was home among the trees,
and folks who sat upon a bench
would come because their time in here was free.
And I have relatives not for from here.
In fact, they’ve all grown up or so I’ve learned.
I get the latest news not from a paper.
I get it when my feathered friends return.
As far as I can tell I’m old as dirt.
I’m older than the fountain and the sign
that greet the people when they walk—
In here they lose the shadows in their minds.
And I have relatives not for from here.
In fact, they’ve all grown up or so I’ve learned.
I get the latest news not from a paper.
I get it when my feathered friends return.
And this old park, it sleeps from dusk till dawn.
And time moves at its own pace dawn till dusk.
Until the park walls disappear,
I’ll open up my case again and busk.
I’ll open up my case again and busk.
credits
from Imagined Lives,
released March 7, 2019
Written and recorded by Bob Moore.
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