Between Blue Tin Cans Rattling (wherever It Beats)
The tendon-bound back
Of the mountains
Is where I’m going
Past the northlands (to the right of the river-land)
With music in my bag
And a rhythm in my heart (wherever it beats?)
Am I a peddler with tin cans rattling,
As I rattle on about the silver I’m selling?!
-Chorus-
If I’m a boastful axe,
Dull me down!
And if I’m a tilting glass,
Pour me out!
You’re calling me to smaller things,
With the great love of a peasant King!
Wherever it beats…
I’m sure you’ve been tracking me
Just to be with me, and for no other cause!
But dear, this people-and-paper shuffling
Rarely lets me pause!
How quickly have I been climbing?
I’m sure my heart’s been timing it!
If I stop the flicker of tin machines
And for a moment just be quiet!
Maybe I could hear it!....
In the reflection of the glassy mountain
I saw a bursting, starry fountain.
Could I loose the cords of Orion
Or lead the Bear and her children?
Who pushed in those thumbtack lights?
Wherever it beats, make it right!
