Grass is made of mothers, of fathers, and their sons.
Their hair grows in the flowers with all their loaded guns.
Our hearts they fly for miles in the beaks of the birds.
Along with all the smiles of children in the herds.
And the trees, they break like a bone,
From the wind that flies all alone.
And their leaves, they leave behind,
The last words of a man who died last July.
And the animals, all the deer and the wolves,
They look for places to hide.
But unknowingly with them I will be,
sitting in a mouse's insides.
Grass is made of mothers, of fathers, and their sons.
Their hair grows in the flowers with all their loaded guns.
credits
from Sea of Sleep EP,
released January 1, 2011
Walt Whitman, for his lovely literature and inspirational imagination.
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