For A Spanish Guitar

The dissonant bells of the sea

Who are ringing the rhymes of the deep

As they sing of the ages asleep

Not so near or so far

And the old masters wind of the waves

Sped forth for the free men and slaves

Whispers of secrets it saves

And about whom they are

And the workings of sunshine and rain

And the visions they paint that remain

Pulsate from my soul through my brain

In a spanish guitar

The beggar whom sits in the street

On his miserable throne of defeat

Envisions no wealth there to meet

Thinking nowhere is far

And the laughter of children employed

By the fantasies not yet destroyed

By the dogmas of those they avoid

Knowing not what they are

And the right and the wrong and insane

And the answers they cannot explain

Pulsate from my soul through my brain

In a spanish guitar

To play on a spanish guitar

With the sun shining down where you are

Skipping and singing a bar

From the music around

Just to laugh through the columns of trees

To soar like a seagull in breeze

To stand in the rain if you please

Or to never be found