In the beginning there was God, It was God or it was something Or maybe there was nothing at all It’s hard to believe But maybe part of it is real Let’s assume, there’s a God but not The Fall A voice out there in somewhere Confident, sincere Echoed in the darkness Loud enough for all to hear Loud and clear- “It’s the year of our Lord!” Then something sprang from nothing It was summoned from the void A universe was spoken into life An unmoved mover - Inspiration running wild, Breathed, then turned on the light While everything was flowing It called forth the human race It shared with us consciousness Accompanied by grace And we appeared It was the year of our Lord But this God isn’t perfect Yeah, It’s learning as it goes Expectations are high, heaven knows Power without limits Doesn’t mean it’s always good, But this God is trying, and it shows In suffering there’s progress Though that can be hard to hear The DNA of creation Is in each and every tear When every year is the year of our Lord A God of understanding Yeah, I think this God is woke And it hopes we learn to wake ourselves A God who values blackness A God who loves what’s queer A God whose love overwhelms Some pray to God the woman Some pray to God the man But God is more complex than we can ever understand It will be clear In the year of our Lord In the year our Lord, We’ll find out that where we’re going There’s no pearly gates but just an open door In the year of our Lord The choir’s always growing And we’ll join in and sing forevermore Everyone you know And those you haven’t met That history remembers or that history forgets Will all be here In the year of our Lord In the year of our lord I think we’ll all want for nothing Everyone may stay young instead of old No economy in heaven Nothing’s made of gold I think that’s a story we’ve been told But galaxies are flowing To a distant point in space Maybe the unmoved mover is residing in that place We’re drawing near To the year of our Lord In the beginning there was God It was God or it was something At the end there will be God or something still The whole of creation This violent, holy place Maybe it’s all bending to some will Now I’m no expert, and on that we can agree But I’m a part of you, you know, and you’re a part of me So have no fear, We’re in the year of our Lord

I’ll stay as long as I can This town is a ghost land Everybody moved away And I just stayed behind I claimed their tasks - one by one Every job still needs getting done And I do them not just to pass the time At the general store, there’s everything that I need I buy and sell myself my groceries Then balance the til I hired myself, the job is mundane But I pay myself a living wage With plenty of overtime to fill This town has it all Like Rome after the fall Keep on Keep on The opposite of urban sprawl At the barber shop I cut my own hair Clean my teeth in the dentist’s chair I’ve got keys to everywhere I wear a white coat and my stethoscope When I tell myself I’m getting sick I make sure my insurance covers it I’m a learned man, I teach myself in the school My syllabus is almost always full No easy A’s I sing in the choir, and I preach to the pews But the Bible’s only seldom used No fire and brimstone left these days This all resembles culture A facsimile of life Move on Move on Staving off that slow demise I walk the beat, but I’m always unarmed There’s no crime I’ve committed so far No quid pro quo But I’d lawyer up and present my own case A judge and jury with one same face I hope my innocence would show I lay on the couch when I’m feeling unsure For a dose of the talking cure It’s not funny, it works Play chess with myself, sometimes I let myself win The witty banter’s really wearing thin I’m miss people so much it hurts My small town kind of living Smallest town under the sun So alone In my home And it’s population one I’ll stay as long as I can In this skeletal ghost land Everybody moved away And I just stayed behind There’s one job I could never do An undertaker and a body too To save some one else’s precious time I’ll build myself coffin Someday I’ll climb right in When the time is right When the time is right In the neighborly tradition This town has got it all Like Rome after the fall My town This sacred ground It’s future population none

I saw you through the window Thought I’d lost my mind I motioned you outside I wrapped my arms around you And I cried and cried And then you dried my eye I knew you shouldn’t be here Yet there you stood In the same old clothes But you were looking good You said you’d only been away a little while And I could only smile It’s not the same As really happening It’s not the same thing The weather started turning As the moon went higher So we lit a fire I asked you every question There beside the pyre It was all that I desired I don’t recall the answers That you gave to me But I recall your voice And your company I paid close attention as everything dissolved And your name I called It’s not the same As really happening But a dream is the next best thing I know it was a voyage I’m glad you left your post My mind’s a gracious host One minute you’re a human and the next a ghost The thing I fear the most… The “you” is always changing here inside my songs But I know who you are And I know where you belong I feel your presence everywhere And the space between Your genes are in my genes It’s not the same As really happening But a dream is the next best thing

Hey baby when you coming home? Been thinking lot about you I want to spend some time alone But not alone without you I want to sit together Talk about the day Nothing too exciting anyway But a hand to hold Talk about getting old A homebody needs to be at home And no one need remind us Don’t need a lot of space to roam Those days are all behind us We’ll make love in the morning It’s getting too late It’s harder to get started after eight Truth be told Talk about getting old Gravity’s relentless It’s taking quite a toll Our bodies are always younger than our souls Like tarnished gold Everything’s getting old Hey baby look how much we’ve grown In the art of conversation We’ve got language of our own Considerate and patient Everything’s forgiven We’ve figured it out Can’t remember what we fought about A lighter load Talk about getting old Growing into comfort Softened by the hurt Skin is fitting looser but like a worn-in shirt I suppose Guess we’re just getting old Someday we’ll sit on our front porch Watch the grandkids playing And see how far we’ve passed the torch In the daylight fading We won’t be caught flatfooted It won’t come as a shock When bodies can’t do more than talk And repose We’ll talk about getting old

A new sight A new sound A new silence more profound A new world A new plane Opens through this Windowpane A light like a sequin Glinting through the leaves Of the Tabebuia blooming I’m savoring everything It’s slow and it’s funny Stretching my legs to the ground running Up crystal stairs and humming My ears start to buzz and ring If you want it, then you can do it Truth is out there And we knew it The window’s open so jump through it And peer on the other side A new set A new setting A new way of forgetting A new state A new frame I’m tripping through this windowpane The seeds are all scattering And “Spring” is a command! I’m hunting and I’m gathering The best things that I can And everything is breathing Colors run like they’re weeping A dream we dream without sleeping An hourglass without sand If you want it, you’ve got to do it The window’s open Let’s run through it Holding hands as we both tune in… And turn on the light inside A new crazy A new sane A new heart A new brain It’s no time To explain I’m stepping through this windowpane The sun in all its splendor Was setting in the East I think that’s what I remember With purple, golden streaks If the weird is what you’re into It may be the right time The Tabebuia is blooming If you’re looking for a sign My body has got to do it The window needs Me to break through it Every atom belonging to it Is waiting to free my mind

You wake up early on Sunday morning It came on quickly and without warning The house is empty, the party’s over It takes adjusting, you’re moving slower And with the knowledge you’re not invincible You know it’s true That Saturday night finally got the best of you While you move about collecting You take some time for your reflecting The bottle’s empty, the smoke has settled You comb your hair back, you’re still disheveled, With Saturday’s clothes hanging on you And all too soon Sunday morning crawls to Sunday afternoon You’re staying in, you’re not real religious You draw the shades, you don’t need a witness A Sunday service you’re now resuming, You’re feeling fragile at your most human You’re a one man congregation So penitent and blue For all the things that a Saturday night can make you do The rooms that echo were filled with chatter You had them laughing, that’s all that mattered Telling stories to friends and others Full-time hipsters, your part-time lover, But in the end it’s so predictable It’s not deja vu, Sunday morning’s always turn to afternoons In the wreckage, you feel pathetic The place looks awful, it’s just cosmetic You need some sunshine, your face is pallid, You want to go, but your will is ragged, And so you sit there ruminating On all you could do While morning turns itself into the afternoon You woke up early this Sunday morning It came on quickly and without warning Tomorrow you’ll be driving slowly To the office, and thinking only “Now the lights on, you’re illuminated!” You know it’s true You’ll be right back here next Sunday afternoon Sunday morning’s always to to afternoons Sunday morning’s turn to Sunday afternoons

Do you ever wonder Why we give a thought To past or to future When all that we’ve got Is present And we’re missing quite a lot What could have been What should have been What might have been What will have been Oh no, There’s really only what there is And you don’t get to Go and take it back my friend You said the wrong thing Didn’t say enough You acted too funny You acted too tough Well being A human being is rough The conversation That plays in your head Won’t go down like that What will happen instead Is you’ll do Just exactly what you did To avoid it, you’d have to go off of the grid Is it a sin Or some human fault We flee from a city Then get turned into salt Well I guess, I guess that’s just our lot Retracing steps Already made Or counting up money Before we get paid Just look Look how far we’ve gone and strayed Into a cycle Of past and future-retrograde We’re running forward We’re looking back Life’s a game And we play the odds We call it random Then blame the gods When we know that correlation’s not a cause But living is blues I’ve worked that out Cause we’ve got to have something To sing about We’ve got to have something to sing or shout While we’re on this temporary roundabout We’re looking forward We’re running back

The Feast of Flowers in the evening hours The world is ours at the Feast of Flowers Open the curtain of the past again The breeze is so inviting A fragrant spell Is springing From an ancient well An almost island in-between the seas Where hearts of palm are beating Cicadas making music Clouds gathering above This land that we love The sound of sails on a foamy shore When tall ships were invading Wood and steel And secrets The Western World concealed Shouts of welcome in a local tongue Gifts of tabby and coquina The feast for them was ending When it had just begun In this land that they loved Their stories buried under sandy soil Secrets still worth keeping They’re safer from harm Clay pots and sacred charms And flowers The Feast of Flowers blooms on Spanish towers Reveal yours powers, it’s feast on the flowers Built by citrus picked by darkest hands Lonely farmlands still remind me Before them stood plantations Our sordid history Overbrimming with the fruits of toil It was a feast for masters only Unknown slaves who labored Bless them everyone In this land under the sun In the garden when the moon is high The gator’s eyes are gleaming An inverse world reflected Changing with the tide The Swanee river running ever wild The St. John’s fleeing northward Baptizing with beauty Cleansing holy ground In this feast where all is found A land of plenty and a land of poor No halcyon days of yore The past is unforgiving The present’s giving more Than flowers Pull back the curtain of the past again Examine it unflinching Like citrus trees we’re grafted To what came before Stories built on stories Forevermore This land where we were born A feast of joy and pain And the fossilized remains Of flowers The Feast of Flowers in the evening hours The world is ours at the Feast of Flowers