and there are the dead birds that fly too high   past the powerlines   and they sink into the sand that's risin' up   way past where the horizon ends   and then it folds down like a crane   i guess they weren't made for these times.      and your dress had two big tears in it   you said one was for Marlon Brando   and the other one was for The New York Times   and the gypsies were drunk, they were half awake in the streets   and in the morning we covered them in the hospital sheets   that blew in on the cold windchimes      and i was sitting on my back porch when i had the moment of clarity   but i didn't so much realize it, as it was explained to me   that we need to watch things die   (that's what i said)   so that we can prepare   for when our hands are cold   and we lose all our hair   (i mean we're dead)      and when i was sitting there, it was the sun that told me   and he had a genial smile and a wide-brimmed hat   and when he smiled at me, well, i smiled back   there really was nothing else i could do      and he asked me why we try so hard to reach for the sky   when we should be thanking the ground for holding onto us   while the sky is dark and forboding, the earth is warm and loving   and really, it's all that we can actually trust