Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

it's a long journey home
and the road is filled with broken bone
yes the frozen purple smoke is broke
it's covered with giant clouds
that appear like floating elephants
and then become rain shrouds
taring down the infinite sky

dark and through the vast tunnel of trees
the darkness only gets darker and
the leaves mirror the gathering gloom
it's a long journey home
and the crows laugh as you go
it's long and slow the darker it gets
and on the far horizon is a glow

through the towns of empty tomorrow
the weird stacks of crooked shadow
and the road is lined with sorrow
sometimes beg, burrow and steal
how do you know what is real
and what is simply an illusion
it's a long journey home
it takes a long time to heal
on the long journey home
Bukowski sorted mail
like he wrote his poems
he was headed home
but like Dylan wrote
no direction home
but we are headed there anyhow

and we are not going to Rome
no more we have had enough
we are like gypsies on the run
sneak and hide under the moon
not getting there too soon
we ride in old cars under the blanket
of night, and write our curious poems
on the way home toward the ocean
of stars, oh, all of life's deep scars
and the sad bars where we drink
the hemlock of never never
and the nepenthe of forgetfulness
we try so hard to forget what
we can't remember where is home

and the
blinking signs in the distance on the way

Everything's going home, one way or another. Seems even science and religion agree on this for the most part. Politics? A piston misfiring on a cosmic jalopy.

I hear stories that aliens are making nuclear missiles to stop working when they do count down tests. But you have to wonder why they did not stop it in the beginning. Politics.