Oak Tree
A raincoat made of cotton
Is what I'm in for
I'm sitting under a roof of leaves in a downpour
There's a streetlight and its orphans
In a burned out embrace
As I start to feel the harvest of a cloud
On my face
And I sleep awake
On a bench, under an oak tree
As that wall, through Jerusalem
Breaks and separates
There's Morse code and applause
In the leaves above my head
Sending signals down below
That the future's looking wet
So I hold my awkward tongue
As that storm tumbles around
And sinks into the puddles
That are bleeding on the ground
Autor(es): MARK BERUBE
