Friday, February 25, 2011

Papa Longan - lyrics

My grandfather, on the back porch steps,
in his undershirt, wipes away the sweat,
and with his pocket knife, cuts a branch he found
As the bluebirds skip along the ground,
he churns ice cream.
He’s carving the American Dream.

Ten years pass with no regrets –
oxygen tubes swing around his neck.
With slower steps, he fills his tank,
and cleans the ashtrays at the uptown bank.
Still a member of the team,
he’s carving the American Dream.

Old age takes away his sight.
Every moment tastes like night.
And in a La-Z-Boy, with a dog on his lap,
the towers fell, then he took a nap,
no breath to belt a scream.
He’s carving the American Dream.

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