©2011 Andrew Calhoun, recorded on Living Room

You woke worn out in the morning, from working in your dreams 
Where the story's always ending, but the pining's never done 
And pigeons strut the temple, where the goddess goes nude 
And squirrels steal the birds' food 
And the gate to the garden might be open 
But there is no garden 

Annie totes an herb sack, with roots from here and there 
She'll cure your ills with teas and spells 
If you know enough to ask her 
Annie has a sore back from totin' round the herb sack 

Jack sits on a hilltop and sings, 
He could've been this and he could've been that 
But he certainly is Jack 
And all those wise, sweet words don't touch the root of gall 
that feeds it all 
And Jack sings, and Jack sings, and Jack sings 

The church ain't what it used to be, is a hymn everlastingly 
As if God were a feeling, or the light itself were failing
Shout Sister Dinah, lift your skirts and circle darlin' 
Don't you feel the morning falling 
The world ain't what it used to be 
Is the hymn sung everlastingly 

Johnny poles his boat to shore, full of fish and something more 
Johnny pass the basket through, fish are good and so are you 
Fish are good and so are you 
Johnny paints into the night, beauties yellow blue and white 
Portraits caught from memories, urgent song of wind in trees 
A woman frames a mindful dove in the silent sound of love 
Johnny poles his boat to shore, full of fish and something more 
Full of fish and something more

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