I might give you flowers,
I might give you thread,
I might give you bread crumbs,
Or breakfast in bed.

I might give you smiles,
I might give you smells,
I might give you wishes,
Or just give you wells.

I might take your nicknames,
I might take your clothes,
I might take your picture,
Or just take your pose.

I might take your hair out,
I might take your face,
I might take you places,
Or just take your place.

And still I sit here wondering,
What are these notions that can't be pacified
All those days of spitting history,
And all those nights of singing
Now I lay me down
And take some comfort in the knowledge that I tried.

With all my might
Your touch is fired through
The feelings still unfilled
And makes them felt,
You shoot the spark that lights the match
That burns the wick
That makes me melt.
Somewhere the patchwork children
Tuck their mother in
With no goodnight,
But I take comfort in the knowledge
All my mights can make it right.

I might make you sleepy,
I might make you stare,
I might make you airborn,
Or just make you heir.

I might make you stranger,
I might make you strong,
I might make you sing,
Or only make you a song.

What have you learned from your experience -
Your earthly melting pot of human entity
Me, I've found that words are magical,
And pens are mightier than
Anything else I could use
To separate these borrowed shoes from me.

No recording available
Copyright 1993 Zach London