she sees nothing wrong with it

she sees nothing wrong with it, for her own health,
but God helps she who helps herself.
she'll get around whatever in her way,
and ignore whatever bad they might say.
as for me, i look into things,
and read between the line.
she calls me a troublemaker,
i call her colorblind.

i see veins in leaves 500 miles away,
talk with pets and know what they say.
i know what she thinks she's going to do,
and how they will make her do it, too.
she may drink oblivion wine,
but i know how they brew it so fine.
i know when she'll leave before she finds a shoe,
in Dante's hell, i can see the whole day through.

like Louie Armstrong's wonderful world,
innocent beauties of nature swirl.
antidotes are frivolous things,
the silly words of thee i sing.
eager children's glowing faces,
bring me back to all God's graces.
birds o'er the Han sail and swoop,
and help me forget the backhoe's scoop.

(As Mike Nesbit says, "Listen to the band.")

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