T. Hakola- words/music, guitars, bass... <br />other voice-Brisa Roché, contact/info: www.theohakola.com, <br /><br />THE RIVER SONG <br />In the beginning, there was the water, a drop in need <br />of another bead to bond with and give birth <br />Might have come from cats and dogs rain to us sustain <br />or bubbled up like champagne to maintain life on earth <br />Drop after drop a-cruising, source and snow melt fusing <br />never ever refusing the pull of gravity <br />and everywhere infusing every cavity... <br />Going down, down, down to the sea <br />then coming back for you and coming back for me <br /><br />Sculpting our mother’s rocky flesh with luscious lines and sultry gullies <br />that hydrochisel made her gorges wet carving her coulees to beget <br />a ravishing vanishing vignette, a song of sorrow and furrowed regret <br />intoned over the untamed domain by wolf, elk, duck and whooping crane <br />losing their link in the old food chain to bipeds run amok <br />in the gospel of gain <br />damned to idle in an arid oubliette, a walled off remnant by despair beset <br />while we spout babies and the growth alphabet, <br />bound for hades in a handbasket <br />to howl with the devil in a toxic tête-à-tête <br />while I befoul this revel with every rhyme I can net <br />but I can’t stop singing, I’ll be the last to leave the fête <br />for whether right or wrong, I’m paying off a debt <br />to all the river life-givers that can still do it <br />to every stream and streamlet, every creek and conduit <br />filling every cavity, drawn along by gravity... <br />Going down, down, down to top up the sea <br />and then coming back for you, coming back for me <br /><br />Springs they do meet and merge to form creeks <br />joining streams as a means to emerge as a river <br />to feed another river that will other rivers seek <br />the earth’s life blood flowing down to the deep <br />carving out its contours on its way to the ocean <br />curving carnal detours, a perpetual motion <br />through mounds of flesh jutting, o’er the dark fundament <br />the blood water’s ever cutting a voluptuous descent <br />A Camille Claudel torrent is our sacred three per cent <br /><br />Running home to the sea and the other ninety-seven <br />before cycling back to us after a stop in heaven <br />to plump up the raindrops and sharpen their teeth <br />for a return to the rivers waiting underneath <br />I can smell the rain coming together with the fire <br />making mad love, the eternal purifier <br />and I’ve got nothing to hide now not even my desire <br />to fill every cavity and go down with gravity... <br />Down with the river, down down to the sea <br />then water cycle back to you, cycle back me... <br /><br /><br /><br />
