Joanna Newsom

Mercy me, the night is long.
Take my pen, to write you this song.
Lord: is it harder to carry on,
or to know when you are done?
All my life, I've felt as though
I'm inside a beautiful memory,
replaying
with the sound turned down low.
Long-life, show your face.
Slow-heart, curb your taste.
Smoke me out of my hiding place.
Long-life, state your case.
What in the world are we waiting for--
building glowing cities 'long the shore,
where the wind batters in,
baiting my kin like a matador?
So much value, placed upon
what lies just beyond our plans:
waving my handkerchief,
running along, till the end of the sand.
Long-life, speak your name.
So tired of the guessing game.
But, something is moving,
just out-of-frame:
Slow-heart,
brace and aim.