A broom sweeps away the dust,
The wind carries on its words.
It speaks within a gust,
and it tells me what its learned
And she, she speaks to me.
A hallow shell speaks of hell,
With a clamor about glamorous jewels.
So sweet a ruby that man held
Into its chest and was smothered cruel
And she, she speaks to me.
When the leaves rustle
She tells me about the struggles
On this pebble road she secures,
And the tales she's heard
When she, she speaks to me.
I smile with the wind,
When shes at her wits end
And she whispers just like her
Which cannot be heard
But she, she speaks for me.
And the wind whispers the whimpers
Of a man who went winters
Without wears or wools,
With the fools who followed him
And he, he bleeds for me.
And she creeps into a complex
That is a mindless matrix
Expanding into a horizon
So bright its mesmerizing
And she, she calls to me.
She bright are the pearls
That Choas wears on her neck,
When she whirls up the worlds
Of the hubris human mess,
And she, she prays for me.
But the natural undertone
Inspires the over-grown
World that engulfs the canvas in my mind,
So I sit with her and pass the time
And she, she sings for me.
