by Doris Muramatsu / Ty Greenstein
(© 2005)
There goes that old postman
Riding on his bike
He's got a bag full of phone bills
And nothing to justify
CHORUS:
I'm as naked as a winter tree
With promises remote
Wish I could fly away above the ashen shade
Observe the world below
Once I had a calling
This town praised my hands
Now I'm sculpting apologies
Cause folks they don't understand
CHORUS
I could change myself
There's so much else I could do
Except I always knew
I was deeper than dailyness
I was made to be manifest
The art like an amethyst of truth
I know, it's only too clear
Spiders spin their webs year after year
I never had that kind of resolve
To know my fear, to face it at all
(© 2005)
There goes that old postman
Riding on his bike
He's got a bag full of phone bills
And nothing to justify
CHORUS:
I'm as naked as a winter tree
With promises remote
Wish I could fly away above the ashen shade
Observe the world below
Once I had a calling
This town praised my hands
Now I'm sculpting apologies
Cause folks they don't understand
CHORUS
I could change myself
There's so much else I could do
Except I always knew
I was deeper than dailyness
I was made to be manifest
The art like an amethyst of truth
I know, it's only too clear
Spiders spin their webs year after year
I never had that kind of resolve
To know my fear, to face it at all