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| Fishbone Still Stuck in Your Throat Sunless Saturday I see the pestilence outside my window I see the dung heaps piled at least a mile high I see the shards of shattered dreams in the street I face the morning with my customary sigh I hear the sounds of children laughing aloud A stumbling wind has attracted quite a crowd My breakfast finished now I brave the outside But clouds have hidden all the warmth inside Chase these clouds away I hate this sunless Saturday Freedom come For us now Light our sky Burn away these clouds Perhaps the charcoal grey and brown around me Is just the mirror image of tainted soul I think the sun will never visit my sky Until the truth is seen by each and every eye I see the helpless and I see the insane I see a pauper singing in the pouring rain I see the means of help elude us again I think the sun will never visit me again |
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