Sandmen: Trading New Days for Old

Background ‘noise’ has a way of becoming invisible to the naked ear. 

Perhaps it’s hidden in the Muzak you don’t really know you’re listening to. 

For that middle-of-the-crossroad sound, smooth jazz works best for me.

Although…

Won't you stretch imagination for the moment and come with me
Let us hasten to a nation lying over the western sea 

Hide behind the cherry blossoms here's a sight that will please your eyes
There's a baby with a lady of Japan singing lullabies 

Although, walking over fine pale sands along forgotten miles of beach, the ‘richness’ of being allowed to be human (or at least try to be) has somehow ebbed.   

 

Which, at the moment, represents a delicate and distracted state not exclusive nor universal to any form of life. 

Under the rising tide in a current stream of wounded pride, fond memories are waxing nostalgic.

Like an echo of the song I hear the Japanese Sandman
Call new days near for all here's the Japanese 

Those who would have it another way seem to have forgotten ‘her’. 

Then you'll be a bit older in the dawn when you wake 

 

 

And you'll be a bit bolder with the new day you make

Not understanding, in a land of color blind ears and tone deaf eyes, I slept well beneath her naked beauty.