Papa
Is Mama with you singing for roast
Blaring old man smoke can wait
Your tomatoes green of Eden are marching off plates
Hurry now food in cold cauldrons are demanding songs
Old man you and your smoke

Papa
It is helpless here
Nobody is happy
Nobody is free
Sullen faces orating rancor
Dissecting color with smoke
Cities streets mans homes

Papa
Did you not teach me
Blood suns moles with hope
Not here Papa
Money is the sad assiduous
Nobody walks in awes
Forcefully bruising honey air

Papa
Ardently blaze them with your harmonica
Overtone those anonymous souls
Upward your pitch and scribble truths of beauty
And with your delicate hand resonance a harmonious colorless existence
Circular breathing those bending notes endlessly
Till dawn recognizes the pellucidness of a dusk