Please don’t forget your faithful
friend—he’s running away again
from home and all he’s known and
been to everything he cannot
be kind of mild to beasts like
him—his mind and his eye are dim
from all the stars he’s taken in
imagination now defiled:
he’s really running wild,
he’s nothing that he wants to be,
(but he’s free)
and what’s wild, wild, wild
and what’s free?
Pushkin tell me, tell me true before you die
Rush and show me, are you freely being wild
Non-stop I beg the star spots to
shine the straying path home
but I know God knows I’m fooling myself
and faith has nowhere to go
Bring back the fooling myself
Push me home
Bring back the fooling myself
Push me home
See everything I try to
find—this Pushkin is wasting time
a guinea pig we named for him, a
kind of playful ploy by
me, who brought the rodent home one
day—I thought that he’d want to stay
the creature comforts were in place
they never mattered anyway
[repeat all boldface]
turn trim days and toss thin
nights—hardly had a plan of flight
the next door lady with dubious
sight stopped her tracks just to stare at a burrowing
blur at the base of her clustered
trees—and suddenly we're on our knees
we catch the blame rat with relative
ease and justify the face of things
Bring back the fooling myself
Push me home
I added a third verse--the rhythm is different when put to the fading-out melody, but I still wanted to format the stanzas similarly.
ReplyDeleteWhat's the resolution here? Like Hemingway's short story, "A Soldier's Home", we aren't sure if the soldier has returned to a house he once knew as home or if the home is 'his' as an apostrophe s suggests. We don't know where he is, emblematic of the 'lost generation'. I guess I wanted "Pushkin's Home" to have some of those questions embedded.
Hope soon to record the song in a track; Joey has a good bass line going...