Somewhere In Life Is Love

Sunday Mahogany Morning

Kiss my mahogany morning
Flashes of light, flooding my veins
Deep Easter storm followed by
Sounds of electric organs
Tambourines and tapping feet
Yet the Amen corner is hushed
The Amen corner is hushed

Kiss my mahogany morning
Beautiful cotton clouds
Carry me to heaven
As the Cadillacs and gray Buicks
Slide into spaces parallel
And the people burn
As they wait for the end of a prayer
Only to begin again
Yet the Amen corner is hushed
The Amen corner is hushed

Kiss my mahogany morning
As the musicians play funeral sonnets
In C# or maybe flat
Like the tires on the deacon’s car
Brown eyes match brown skin
As it is wrapped in bright reds and yellow
And they look at each other with derision
Yet, the event causes for no judgement
And as the town’s Jezebel sits in the front pew
The Amen corner is hushed
The Amen corner is hushed

Kiss my mahogany morning
As we prepare to hear the word
And break out our Sunday best
While daydreaming Saturday’s worse
And eyes search through stain glass
Only looking into hidden windows
For when we enter the house
We leave ourselves at the door
Pages turn and eyes follow
As the heart hears songs from last night’s endeavors
Amen is nothing but a reactionary measure
As they say it in four/four
And the fans fly
Left, right, left, right
Only making it hotter
A baby wail
And a mother walks out soundlessly
Waking the college student in the back
Sweat beating off the pastor’s face
He wipes his brow
He wipes his face
He glances at the Amen corner
Dead before its time
Get louder
Dead before its time
Wake them
Wake the dead
Or make the call
But the Amen corner is hushed
The Amen corner is hushed

Kiss my mahogany morning
As they pray
They pray for the world
For Mother Hall and Deacon Burns
For Sister Ann and Brother Hill
For the righteous
For the weary
For the sanctity of the church
For it to bleach all spots
Press all wrinkles
And they pray
Heads bowed, eyes closed
And the Amen corner is hushed
The Amen corner is hushed

Kiss my mahogany morning
As time presses on and noon sets in
Sounds of electric organs die
Footballs fall
Buicks fly
Lights diminish from the cross
As the blood dries in the summer heat
Back to the swamp house
Where Cheri Laurell is still hitting blues riffs
Even the pastor attend for a trip
And the Amen corner awakes
Nevermore hushed


To understand my words, you must first understand my mind. Balik737