David Heatley

Project 01 : Musician 11
Queens, New York

Pastoral

It feels so good to go a-traveling. I feel my thoughts unraveling
Maybe I’m babbling, but my mind takes off like a javelin
I’m on the gravel and the dirt road
Through with the hurt mode, crack the window open and my shirt flowed

Felt the breeze and it was lovely, only the sky above me
Thinking of nobody and nobody’s thinking of me
Alone in my solitude, no white collar glued to my neck
I’m wearing T-shirts and praising Hallelu

Yeah you could say I’m on a mission for no wishing or longing
Gone fishing for that vision I’ve been missing all along
Bring nothing but this napsack / backpack
And a song to sing

Sending no tweets, status updates or changing stupid mood emoticons
I’m shooting skeet to practice hunting for food: I hear some noise, I load my gun
Now I hear feet, fat as cupcakes, come through the bushes to the road I’m on
Turn it to meat fast as nothing. Slice him open, take the motherload. I’m gone

Pig’s on the spit, the fire’s cracklin. I’m thinking ’bout what happened
Yesterday already feels way back when
No need for napkins, plates or utensils
Papers, pens, books or number 2 pencils or those few friends who
Might wonder where I disappeared to… probably fearful,
Still following those rules I once adhered to
But now I’ve got a clear view of everything from here to
Andromeda. I promise these comets and stars can hear you

We need so damn many things to keep our dazed lives going
We need so damn many things to keep our stupid lives going