Yacov david - I Visited the Village Green lyrics

I visited the village green Where crystal visions can be seen By you, or me, or any of us Alighting from the crystal bus, Whose chandelier glimmers as The bus lets out a gust of gas. And I recall, or think, or see, A facet, individually, A gla** in which there can be seen A town, a mill, a village green. And I recall, or think I do, The shape of sunlight in the dew, The curve of air, the crescent shapes Of time that on our shoulders drapes. And I let in, with cool eclat, The rearing horse, the black sheep's “baa,” Speeding on a web of neurons, Thirty billion bright Lake Hurons, Intra-spatial universe Where holographic souls disperse Purses quick as mercury That flash their small infinity. Ideas quickly oxidize. Left on the shelf, they prove no prize. Electrons whirling in the air Are no respecters of them there. Quantum shampoo in your hair Will whisk your head most anywhere. The worshipers will pray again, Vague feelings will be flowing then, The thoughts of upright, sturdy men. But sometimes I just have a yen To free the ocelot from his pen To streak along the quiet pews, Nuzzle elders, eat their shoes, On the podium, wail the blues, Declare and blare galactic news, And if the beadle demands his dues, Bare its teeth, leave pawprint clues. We've entered into dusty climes Repeated songs ten thousand times. At forty-two or fifty-three, We're dead as doornails, you and me, Spinning like the hour hand, Traversing this too-tired land, Traveling to a tired heaven Whose sour dough turns slowly leaven, Bringing children after us, Who'll also spin without a fuss And disappear in the maw Of vast, majestic sacred law Or ride the breakers of old lore That breaks upon a gritty shore, As sermons we have heard before Sedate us to our very core. Dust filters slowly to the floor And dulls the veins of raw, red ore. On a higher frequency Where nothing's what it's thought to be, Where lead is gold and slaves are free, And whispers exponentially Expand and leap the garden gate As in your breast they resonate, The village green, now opalescent, The chugging bus, turned iridescent, The river, where the leaping plaice Describe a curve in mystic space, Where footsteps never leave a trace Of where they led the merry chase, We disembark and in the park Wait until the sky turns dark And feel the breathing, furtive, hot, Of the panting ocelot, And let the vision of our eyes See oceans sink and mountains rise. And where we go, our trembling hand Awakens tremors on the land.