The Ink In the Well

The lights of the ashes smolder through hills and vales Nostalgia burns in the hearts of the strongest Picasso is painting the ships in the harbor The wind and sails These are years with the genius for living The rope is cut, the rabbit is loose (Fire at will in this open season) The blood of a poet, the ink in the well (It's all written down in this age of reason) The animals run through harvested fields of fire The bitterness shown on the face of the homeless Picasso is painting the flames from the houses The sudden rain These are years with a genius for living The rope has been cut, the rabbit is loose (Fire at will in this open season) The blood of a poet, the ink in the well (It's all written down in this age of reason) Do-do-doo do-do-doo Do-do-doo do-do doo do-do Do-do-doo Fire at will Fire at will Fire at will