there's angels talking in tongues... speaking in my dreams;
and I'm watching this world come apart at the seams...
there's weapons in the hands of children
they are pawns in the game of evil men...
cross-hairs bearing down on women...
and a shadow creeping over the sun.
...
I try to make out what the angels are saying
read their tortured smiles... are they cursing or praying?
it's time for the righteous to take a stand
and give the disadvantaged a helping hand
coax the touch of magic back on the land
and remember; we're all 'chosen ones'...
...
and if we can't lead the children... let the children lead
if we can't give them what they want, let them give us what we need
it's time for love to triumph over lust and greed
for every rusting heart to open up and bleed!
...
there's angels talking in tongues, speaking in our dreams
we suspect it's in code; if we only knew what it means
we could take the weapons fro the hands of children
break the monopoly of evil men
pay proper homage to women
and strip this shadow away from the sun...
strip this shadow away from our sons...
...well... this is a tune that came from a dream... not just my dream, but the character Savannah Wingo, in Pat Conroy's novel 'The Prince of Tides', as well... she was beset with tortured angel imagery, and it caught me like a 'flu bug... "if we can't lead the children,let the children lead,...", indeed. I've dedicated this song recently to Greta Thunberg and the various climate activists, and more recently to the young First Nations folk manning the barricades and blockades in support of their brethren out west being bullied and bamboozled by the continuing Canadian Colonial Empire... to the millions of young men and women world wide caught up i the false imagery of commercial pornography that permeates everything from advertising to children's programming. These are strange days, indeed. love to all, d.