THE FINAL WORD 121411 - TWENTY FOUR HOURS

James Michael Taylor

THE FINAL WORD

One night James Michael went to bed and held on to this girl
And in the morning light he found that it was another world
Realities envisioned seemed to challenge status quo
And every time he would say, “Yes.” the world, it would say. “No.”
And when the votes were counted, the voices all were heard
The verdict cried, the hands were tied. “Not in,” the final word.

So, he started on a journey. The end he did not know
He knew the whom he should talk to and the where that he should go
And finding kin and Karma standing in his way
He prayed to god in heaven to see him thru the day
With fearful thots envisioned, his heartbeat could be heard
“Go on or you go nowhere,” seemed to be the final Word

He stopped along the highway to get him some relief
And standing on the shoulder with his guitar and his grief
He cried a mighty story about gods that were not men
And he started fences singing. “Oh, please don’t come here again.”
Because doubt and fear and anger was all that they had heard
But barbed and strung out as they were, he had the final word

When love is not enough a man will tire of any quest
And finding his self-pity, take and wear it like a vest
He’ll try to wrap his friends around him to protect him from the cold
And find them hardly fitting in the postures he will hold
And he’ll try in conversation to tell what he has heard
And waiting for their answer, he’ll find he’s had the final word

When social pressures fail a man must do what he must do
And pay the price with interest until he’s finished or he’s thru
But to quit is worse than never being born, Oh bless the thot
If he can’t reconcile his vision with what is and what is not
The answers all are simple. Is there one I haven’t heard?
But sorting thru for what is true, I seek the final word

The truth a natural healer, like a dog that’s bred for bird
And the eye, it’s own revealer finds the whey within the curd
The mind to what is measured, and the ear to what is heard
And the heart to what is touted seems to fear the final word
The truth a natural healer, like a dog that’s bred for bird
And the eye, it’s own revealer finds the whey within the curd

(C) 1977 Royal T Music