Bed Monkey © R. Leschen (24 November 2005)


They shifted my body from right to left, thereís sores on my backside my mindís bereft;

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


Thereís a monkey on the patio singiní loud and clear, unconditioned love are words Iíd like to hear;

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


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

Thereís 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 canít help;

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


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

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


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

Thereís no use dying confined to a bed, just head for the ocean and donít be afraid.


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

Theyíll be no books, no television screen, just droplets of water and heavenly peace.