The air was cold, the rain wet,
It hit my head like bits of stone,
And so I yelled out in dismay:
“This place is not my home.

“Join me now and riot loud,
My people now, my little crowd.”
(There were three people standing by,
One - a baby - started to cry.)

Hearing this, I filled with regret,
And stood alone, so cold and wet.
I walked away like a poisoned rat,
And in the gutter, down I sat.

“Tired I am, so very worn,
My trousers ripped, my shirt torn,
So here I’ll wait till ‘morrow dawn.”
The rain had stopped, I felt now warm.

Sitting in my little nook,
Some people walked by, had a look
At me and said: “Well ain’t he cute.”
With that they pulled out guitar and flute,

And played for me a little tune:
‘The Horse of Course That Swallowed the Moon’.
I sang along, I knew the words,
And in the distance sang the birds.

Our music grew so, louder still,
And in the distance, down the hill
Came storming fifty people or more
To join our music, all sat on the floor.

One by one, our volume grew
And all were singing high and loud.
What started off as three or two
Had grown into a giant crowd.

We sang with one ecstatic voice:
“We are blind, we have no choice,
And so we’ll sing here day and night,
For they are wrong and we are right.”


© 2000 Matt Everett