Thirty

Thirty Buddha's on a walnut
Tiny lens inside the eye
Tiny mind inside the tiny brain
To see the overwhelming sky

Thirty birds up on a phone line
Cherry blossoms on an old, bound Ford
The hint of Deja vu on every face
And every crowd I want toward

Ashes, ashes
All fall down
Hear those moments
Make their sound
Dry leaves on the ground

Thirty odd years I've been drifting
Is there somewhere we could meet?
'Cause I'm weak as a kitten
I'm dirty as a mitten in a winter street

Thirty days walk from my front door
If I don't leave now it's thirty-one
And the old man puts his arm around my shoulders and says
"Let me tell you, son..."

Ashes, ashes
All fall down
Hear those moments
Make their sound
They fall like dry leaves on the ground

The summer stars they like to whisper
We've been hoodwinked all along
There is not a shred of meaning here but
Thirty Buddha's on a walnut says you're wrong
Thirty Buddha says you're wrong
I'll bet you a walnut says you're wrong