The Bull
©1979 Andrew Calhoun, recorded on Water Street.
It makes no difference how I behave,
Things are good, things are bad, I'm a king and a slave,
I'm a rock and a stone, I’m a sea and a wave,
Waiting for the shoreline to reach me.
One with the truth has the bull by the horns,
Lucky to breathe and to be kept born,
Illusions shatter as the body is shorn
Of leaves that grew in the morning.
God had a bowtie, God had a gun,
He was your little brother, come looking for his fun,
Going up you and down you with a knife and the sun,
Paused at the threshold of swallowing you.
One with a lie has the bull by the tail,
Lucky to strangle, lucky to fail,
Is pulled to and fro through the dirt by the bull
Like a leaf in the wind in the winter.
Listen to the footsteps, beating on the bridge
Running past the rivers where dead men live
They’re walking off the mountain, falling off the ledge
Their wish is firmly broken and their souls are pledged.
Those who hold no handle but to wish their bodies well,
Are sanctified in terror, counted out in Hell,
Go wandering in limbo with lives and bellies full,
To finish up in silence in the belly of the bull
It makes no difference how I behave,
Things are good, things are bad, I'm a king and a slave,
I'm a rock and a stone, I’m a sea and a wave,
Waiting for the shoreline to reach me.