my little candle my little news
my crescent moon my hit the snooze
birthday cake and old church bells
pink balloons and camping trails
summer banquets hampton yachts
sugar pearls and ancient thoughts
mini fires cinnamon buns
night time play time vacation funds
hidden cabins rustic roses
wool sock winters perfect poses
rootbeer cups Alaskan cruise
my little candle, my little news
Hurry, hurry, we are late for dream land
We must get you ready to go
We must get you out of your day clothes
And wash off all you think you know
With some warm water and gentle soap
And a checkered towel
And a storybook
You want to get back to it
The last cloud that dissipated in the morning light
Is the first star you see tonight
it's your favorite thought
A sea of clouds
A sky of waves
Waiting for you to take the stage
As you drift and dream your own dream...
I will tell you my own story.
Of the times that I almost lost everything. A wandering child along the desert highway. Off to the side of the road, broken down. It was mid day and the sun was the highest it ever could be in the sky. Small and scorching and scarce like the mere coins I carried in my pocket. The breeze took my hair off my shoulders and blew it behind me like a gorgeous feminine flag. Showing the sweat on my neck. The way I worried the way I feared. That I'd never make it to the next town. Or that someone would ask me where I came from, or worse yet where I'm going.
I met a man who stole my purse.
I met a man whose shoes I stole so I could run away from him without burning my feet.
I met a woman who was in the French circus.
I sat with her across the yellow line on the pavement, I traced the grooves of the rumble strips. She spoke as I listened well into the night, shivering to the count of the crickets:
"I could twirl like the best of them and move with the rest of them. And we moved a lot. About every 5 days. And within those days, when we were stationed to perform, no moment was ever alike. The only routines we knew of were when we were flailing our arms and legs for crowds of people, who had absolutely no idea what they were truly witnessing. All that went on behind the curtains. And what a shame. Because it was far more fascinating than the performances. The tent, and the swarms of citizens were all but a quick dream right before waking up, right before walking into the back side of the spectacle, beyond the velvet and into the lace. Where we all allegedly ran the show. On scraps of paper, scraps of fabric, hot hot nights where you could choose to sleep on the ground or on top of someone, or not at all. We were all just freaks, and that was it. When we were in the spotlight, we were just highly trained freaks, and that was it. And we were, highly trained. And we were, freaks. That's what gave us the ability to sore through the air and blow kisses at whatever blokes. It was always the young girls who handled the mess and assured damage control, from owners and brothers whose greed and power and pride and arrogance stacked atop one another's until everything toppled. About once a night. It was the girls who banned together to pack up the trunks at 4 in the morning and drag them accross dark fields and hoist them into train cars with our pale and skinny arms. Then we often just sat in the train car, behind all the trunks and boxes and costumes, just listening to men hollering at men and wailing animals. It seemed not to phase us, but we cared a lot. I put on such an air of carelessness and aloofness, and that's what gave me the ability to haul trunks around well into another day. But whenever I could, I would find a very safe place to be alone and I would cry. A highly trained, fearless, bold young girl who took beatings as a sport, still sat in the elephant ring to fall apart. My favorite time of the night. It's what gave me the ability to leave the trunks where they were, and let the animals wail."