The Secret Parade

The Secret Parade

Come on down to the secret parade;

It's a carnival most clandestine,

So sneak away and join us if you think

That sounds interesting.

Wolves and pigs alike are prepared

To pinch us for protesting,

But we’ve slipped the trap—it’s their own fat

That they’ll be left digesting.

The furtive festivities will have covert catering.

The samizdat symphony will provide the score.

And stealthy seamstresses have been tailoring

Cushions to keep the sound beneath the floor.

So come on down to the secret parade,

Join our surreptitious celebration!

Come listeners, laughers, and layabouts.

No need for deductible donations:

We’re sometimes broke, but always wealthy

In ways that defy taxation;

We’ve revived our loves and our lives

In this off-the-books ovation.

The military police crash in and find no one to arrest.

The focus-groupers float in and find no market left to test.

Public relations falls purposeless with no people to deceive,

And the elected officials discover there are no lemmings left to lead.

We’ve all gone down to the secret parade;

Melted away through hole-and-corner.

Fixers, fakers, and fat-cats all flummoxed

With no one there to hear their orders.
We vanished deftly through the vines;
We find fear-mongering a bore.

We’ve all gone down to the secret parade,

And we don’t need them anymore!

Not For Me

Not For Me

Ducked through the doorway, escaping the rain,

An empty movie house across from Broadway and Main.

Sticky floor, stale popcorn, and rows of empty seats,

There’s no one else around, so I put up my feet.

And looking up, I see:

Adventure, romance, and comic relief,

A hero’s daring rescue, somehow bloodless and brief,

A thrilling tale of terror that always ends happily,

But not for me.

Sleep, can I beg you to come here for me?

No, you just giggle as you dance out of reach.

Your little starfeet have kicked away the key,

And long, cold iron makes the cell complete.

And it’s built for me.

Sunshine just slid out through the holes in my face,

Now it’s dashing down the drain and searching for a better place,

Where the gentle radiation of a pretty girl’s smile lights the scene.

But it’s not for me,

I’ve read the name on the packaging.

It would be wrong to take what belongs

From the vessel where it’s plain to see:

It’s not for me.

Sunshine just slid out through the holes in my face,

Now it’s dashing down the drain and searching for a better place,

Where good fortune is a beacon just inside of where my eyes can reach,

But it’s not for me.