Tuesday, April 24, 2012


If you think you can put your hands on it
Read it to me or
Run it up the flag pole
Then you don’t have it

If you think you can find it with a gun
Then I hope you never do

If you think it’s fallen down from above
Like manna from heaven
Fully formed and ready to sustain us
Then you haven’t been in the kitchen yet and
I doubt whether you’ll be of much help if you ever make it there

If you think it’s that warm feeling you get in your chest
When you sing one of those songs
I’d like you to be right
I’d like to be there with you
One voice among many
Hands in the air
Eyes closed
Held in the cacophany
For always and ever
But I know I’d only last an hour or so
Before I’d want to
Listen to something else or
Nothing at all
Before I’d want to open my eyes and
Look for it somewhere else

If you think it can be wrestled to the ground
Bestowed from above
Discovered only in the faces and beliefs of some people
Purified or
Who knows what else
Then I know that you’re wrong
You think the fact that everyone is looking for it
Means that it can be found

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