Red Hill

I went to the meetings
and someone wrote my name down
and my license plate number
and inside people were standing up
making speeches
that were real long,
and always got a round of applause
No matter what they said
And I thought that was weird
but it was at night, and everyone was friendly
At least polite and smiling
so how weird could that be?
You picked me up after work
you wore a navy blue peacoat
and a knit cap
I didn't notice the pin,
I was too interested in the words you were saying
"Red sun decending
to the sea
ignites the waters momentarily,
promising words yet to be spoken in a dream,
There the populations of my mind appeared,
extending to infinity,
Their eyes were beautiful,
in boundless sorrow
their voice united, merging into mind"
So, the prolific waxing
inside the meeting,
was nothing like the poetry
you sang on the way to the gig
It was too, the style with which you
presented this stuff,
Tall, intense, driven
blue eyes flashing
like it was the only
Cause,
And you may have been right.
'cause everyone ducked back
into their homes in the canyons
waiting for your passion to get the best of you
and you didn't disappoint them,
For they knew what to expect,
Except - what the hell were you thinking?
Chasing that nice producer from New York
around Red Hill with a carving knife?
That wasn't cool, and you were supposed to play that role
But, I'll bet no one told you that was your job.
You would never have taken it on
It was always the music, the language, the magic
Until that night on Red Hill . . .
What were you thinking?