Sweeper's Grin

The devil dressed in good news. Settled on a sunset out beyond an empty bay. Quiet was the odd pier. Peering was a fast ship that floated where the flocks would stay. Bike against a palm tree. Sinking in the grey sand. Fighting off the rust that burns. It's quiet by a shut church. The waves say that a storm is near. Gulls sleep as the sunshine fades.

Happy to be carefree. Do tell? Just round the bend so shall it be. Happy to be, where are the bells?
Happy to be carefree. Do tell? Reapers at end so shall it be. Maybe we flee to the bells.

Lulling to the sweeper cleaning up a front porch. Mosquitos stinging in my sweat. Hiding from the heat wave. It's a lot of waiting. Now a days we always wait. Drumming on an oak bench. Singing with cicadas. Running in the pollen wind. When something feels united then there's a lot of purpose. Fixing on a sweeper's grin.

Happy to be carefree. Do tell? Just round the bend so shall it be. Happy to be, where are the bells?
Happy to be carefree. Do tell? Reapers at end so shall it be. Maybe we flee to the bells.

There was once a time when i fished with my Dad who could watch the news and sleep all day. But what good could the news do when you’re always sleeping? Sweeping up another grey.

Happy to be carefree. Do tell? Just round the bend so shall it be. Happy to be, where are the bells?
Happy to be carefree. Do tell? Reapers at end so shall it be. Maybe we flee to the bells.