People
©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