Bed Monkey © R. Leschen (24 November 2005)

They shifted my body from right to left, there’s sores on my backside my mind’s bereft;

I stare at the wall and some at the T.V., my sister pregnant brings me my tea;

There’s a monkey on the patio singin’ loud and clear, unconditioned love are words I’d like to hear;

The neighbours speak softly, quiet among themselves, that old boy in the attic is a livin’ in a hell.

When I was a child grandma told me, head for the ocean to find destiny;

There’s no angel no secret song, your soul inside will carry ya along.

The nurse came on Tuesday to check on my health, she looked at my arms and said son I can’t help;

I reckon your doomed so sorry for the news, better call the preacher you’ll be needing him soon.

My ears are crying from overloaded pain, trapped in the bed above drizzlin’ rain;

The telephone rings the revenue man, asking me do ya got any plans.

Well, if I was a president or even the pope, I’d tell all the children you gotta have hope;

There’s no use dying confined to a bed, just head for the ocean and don’t be afraid.

When I finally reach my open space, I’ll conform to the stars and caress the earth;

They’ll be no books, no television screen, just droplets of water and heavenly peace.