©2001 Garrett Clevenger
E riff If you've ever had the Wind blow sand into your eyes, you know one things for sure:
E riff smashing silicon is as sharp as a scissor. You'll spit and curse the Wind to cure the
Am anger that you feel as the dust burns your nose, whose snots drying round the rim.
E riff Watching as your money scatters long the sidewalk, merging with the traffic closing in.
F C Eriff Your spit hits the ground below.
F G Ariff Splattering a Bug who did not know.
If you've ever been a bug whose been spit on by a human, you know one thing is true:
warm sticky loogies will clutter up your wings and keep you from flying through the blue.
When you finally clean yourself and go gliding through the sky, flying to your leafy nest,
you'll stop off at the nearest pear tree for some nectar, craving for the very best.
Probing it so deep. Fertilize the flower so it might reap.
If you've ever been a flower whose been feeding lots of bugs, you know one thing will be:
it tickles when they wiggle their feet down your pedals, lapping all your nectaries.
When they bring you pollen from the flower from the valley and spread it all over your face,
you know they wouldn't make it if the Wind hadn't blown them across that overcrowded space.
You bear the seed of distant lands. From you will emerge a might stand.
If you've ever been a plant who is different from your neighbors, on this you can depend:
you'll look a little funny when you're leaving in the Sunlight and your twigs are twisting in the Wind.
But you are growing stronger, your limbs are looking longer, your roots live deep within
the soil that holds you as the Wind blows around you, chilling you to the skin.
You have realized. You have learned to thrive.
If you've ever been a pistal in a flower in full bloom, one thing stays the same:
there are a million other flowers who are hoping that their honey will bring a few pollen grains.
The ones who don't get some will be waiting for the Wind to bring same strange anthers seed
so they might get a chance to feel the sensation of fulfilling their fruity need.
They've been blown to you. You will grow a fruit.
If you've ever been a fruit who is hanging from a branch, one thing will be found:
you'll feel very juicy as the summer's wearing thin and your friends have all smashed the ground.
You'll see the Wind lifting their Souls from their body, drifting down to the street,
filling up the nose of the one who is sniffing, now she's found something sweet.
Climbing up the hill. She goes for the kill.
If you've ever been a human who has picked a ripe fruit, you should be aware:
before you sink your teeth, remember that the Breeze led you to this luscious pear.
The first bite you take will drip down your face and mingle with the moss below,
splattering a bug who is feeding with a slug on a corpse they have come to know.
Let your course begin. Just don't course the Wind.