Brown Leaves

And all would be as it would be
As hewn as whatever fabric was woven to
The multitude of cautions was tattered, t'was a tattered tale
Poor self, he cries, like Willie's toothless grin
And the good book taught you how to weed
The grapes of wrath, the fruits of the streets
In the West, we know no deserts
Except those spoiled by arrows and gunpowder
And the leaves turn brown and fall to the ground
The cool white skin of a thousand rooms
And she had a cat in a gilded cage
And she kept the birds at bay
No matter what the mind may think
I tell my brothers to be humble
And I often point out to them
That Western civilization watches more than experiences
And the leaves turn brown and fall to the ground
The leaves turn brown and fall to the ground
All would be as it would be
No matter what the mind would think
All would be as it would be
And the leaves turn brown and fall to the ground
And the leaves turn brown and fall to the ground