A Fistful of Thunder

A Fistful of Thunder

Where have you come from, my wild-eyed child?

Oh, where have you come from, with your heart so beguiled?

I’ve come from a mountain, surrounded by fire.

Where the women all swayed as they sang in a choir,

Where the men built a ladder of thorns from the mire,

Where the children aren’t born, but are found ‘neath a briar.

And what did you see there, my wild-eyed child?

Oh, what did you see there, with your heart so beguiled?

I saw a big man use his fingers as pencils,

I saw a grey goat feast on horseflesh and lentils,

I saw a fat woman, who was graceful and gentle,

She had hammers and flowers arranged round her ankles.

And where will you go next, my wild-eyed child?

Oh, where will you go next, with your heart so beguiled?

I’ll go to the future, when the last vulture flies out

To feast on the apes as they scratch their own eyes out.

I’ll go to the past when the first mammal cries out,

And return to the present with a mind full of wise doubt.

And when will you return, my wild-eyed child?

Oh, when will you return, with your heart so beguiled?

When the bones of the mountain are ground into powder,

When the songs of the women grow louder and louder,

When the men on the ladder grab a fistful of thunder,

And the last child has gazed at the sunset in wonder.