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My Double, My Brother
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Stolen Water
We sat by the creek to watch it drink the day down
Measured minutes with stone throws.
We gathered thistled figs and grapes with thorns from the ground
Reaping what we'd never sew.
And all this time we praised the sweetness of stolen water
For the secrets we'd undone.
The blood and tears, the years of labor from our fathers
For the ennui of their sons.
And what do they have to do with us?
They're six feet under turning into dust!
We're amnesiac fools who burned all that we could have read
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To hush the democracy of the dead.
We'll fix the fire to fly and rise up from the embers
The conflagration of our debts
The frailty of the mind, how seldom we remember
Of how soon we do forget.
But what do they have to do with us?
They're six feet under turning into dust!
We're amnesiac fools who burned all that we could have read
To hush the democracy of the dead.
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