and there are the dead birds that fly too highnpast the powerlinesnand they sink into the sand that's risin' upnway past where the horizon endsnand then it folds down like a craneni guess they weren't made for these times.nnand your dress had two big tears in itnyou said one was for Marlon Brandonand the other one was for The New York Timesnand the gypsies were drunk, they were half awake in the streetsnand in the morning we covered them in the hospital sheetsnthat blew in on the cold windchimesnnand i was sitting on my back porch when i had the moment of claritynbut i didn't so much realize it, as it was explained to menthat we need to watch things dien(that's what i said)nso that we can preparenfor when our hands are coldnand we lose all our hairn(i mean we're dead)nnand when i was sitting there, it was the sun that told menand he had a genial smile and a wide-brimmed hatnand when he smiled at me, well, i smiled backnthere really was nothing else i could donnand he asked me why we try so hard to reach for the skynwhen we should be thanking the ground for holding onto usnwhile the sky is dark and forboding, the earth is warm and lovingnand really, it's all that we can actually trust