Through the city's melted furnace,
unexpectedly we watched
With faces hidden as the walls
were tightening
As the echo of the wedding
bells before the blowin' rain
Dissolved into the bells of
the lightning
Tolling for the rebel, tolling
for the rake
Tolling for the luckless,
the abandoned an' forsaked
Tolling for the outcast, burnin'
constantly at stake
An' we gazed upon the chimes
of freedom flashing.
Through the mad mystic hammering
of the wild ripping hail
The sky cracked its poems
in naked wonder
That the clinging of the church
bells blew far into the breeze
Leaving only bells of lightning
and its thunder
Striking for the gentle, striking
for the kind
Striking for the guardians
and protectors of the mind
An' for the poet and the painter
far behind his rightful time
An' we gazed upon the chimes
of freedom flashing.
Through the wild cathedral
evening the rain unraveled tales
For the disrobed faceless
forms of no position
Tolling for the tongues with
no place to bring their thoughts
All down in taken-for-granted
situations
Tolling for the deaf an' blind,
tolling for the mute
For the mistreated, mateless
mother, the mistitled prostitute
For the misdemeanor outlaw,
chained an' cheated by pursuit
An' we gazed upon the chimes
of freedom flashing.
Even though a cloud's white
curtain in a far-off corner flared
An' the hypnotic splattered
mist was slowly lifting
Electric light still struck
like arrows, fired but for the ones
Condemned to drift or else
be kept from drifting
Tolling for the searching
ones, on their speechless, seeking trail
For the lonesome-hearted lovers
with too personal a tale
An' for each unharmful, gentle
soul misplaced inside a jail
An' we gazed upon the chimes
of freedom flashing.
Starry-eyed an' laughing as
I recall when we were caught
Trapped by no track of hours
for they hanged suspended
As we listened one last time
an' we watched with one last look
Spellbound an' swallowed 'til
the tolling ended
Tolling for the aching, whose
wounds cannot be nursed
For the countless confused,
accused, misused, strung-out ones an' worse
An' for every hung-up person
in the whole wide universe
An' we gazed upon the chimes
of freedom flashing.
Marco Giunco |
Work | Basket | Music | Words |