Grows on Trees

Performed by Accidental Bedfellows



There were these trees of poems
That all the women knew
And they took their sailors to them
'neath a blue and dusty moon

And remembering that magic
Passed from a mother to her girl
They deftly palmed their wedding bands
And straightened out their curls

They would say:
Speak to me, sailor
Here are the words -
They're growing all over the trees -
My heart is a cravin' someone who will shake 'em
And shower us will all of its leaves

Some sailors got lost in the jungle
Their ears still ringing from the storm
Of the smoke and the noise
As the captain's fine boys
Tossed them o'erboard

They found these strange trees in the jungle
Each leaf bore a regal visage
And that is the day that money was born
And they could tell this was gonna be large

And they said:
Speak to me Money
Cut me a road and a rail
Through the trees -
My heart is laden with violence
And cravin' a castle on the cliffs by the sea

There were these trees of poems
That all the women knew
And they'd trek with their sailors into this place
And kick off their dusty shoes

But this time the sailors had got there first
With their pouches of fiscal seeds
And their saws and chains
And efficient little trains
And a new definition of weeds

Now, I hear it said from the sea to the city
If you want to bed a sailor
You will not get it for free
No - you've gotta shake his tree

It'll shower you with money
The meter will be running
And of words he will have no need -
Of words he has no more need
Not from that ol' poet tree
Not from that ol' poetry

~ Brendan Bonsack 2013