#75: Still Crazy - After All These Ears (Misunderstanding)

You Might Be Tired, But You Can't Sleep.
The Barnyard's Singing And You Count Sheep.
You're In This Mess Now, Way Too Deep
To Read The Lines A-'Tween It.
You Know The Song, But Words Don't Keep.
As Soon As The Singer Makes A Peep,
Your Understanding Slips The Steep
Cliff From Them That Mean It.

So we listened for the message but
were pitched by our own plight,
as creedible singers yelled at us,
"There's a bathroom on the right."

And then the subject changed to bugs.
We prayed the whine would end . . .
"The ants are my friends," it honked at us,
"they're blowin' in the wind."

A chorus broke behind a wall
of undulating wood . . .
"Thump her oily hairpins when it's raining . . ."
was all we understood.

"Help," Jo uttered a perfect word,
"what's this gibberish?
I couldn't get these messages if
it were granted as a wish.

A moment passed in silence, then
we heard another sound . . .
some peachy, beachy suffering like . . .
"'Round, 'round, I get around . . ."

It circled more directions like,
"I'm livin' by the sea . . ."
and ended on the clearest note,
"I get my breakfast free."

We stood there for a little while
listening for the news . . .
Ms. Mitchell swore that human beings
have got the right to choose . . .

Or Joni's Canyon canons might
have more confused the plot . . .
when she said that "A gay pair of guys
do it in the parking lot."

"Wait," Jo said, his inspired brain
did almost sound a bang,
"ain't all these the lyrics that
we used to think they sang?"

"Huh?" I tried to follow down
the logic of his trail . . .
"Would you suggest these phrases might
be more than cosmic wail?"

"Mondegreens," my word-wise friend
then shouted out with glee.
"They're all the things that singers don't
record with clarity.

It's another way of showing us
that our perceptions deal
impressionistic hands to us
that may not be that real."

I could tell right then that Jo was apt
to carry on some more
in extended explanation, but
a rumble shook the floor.

We turned around. The Buggy was
a-purrin' like a cat.
The Voice came crashing back as we
opened the door and sat.

"Perception, Boys, I trust you see,
no matter how you peer,
is almost always a great deal more
than what you see and hear.

Your senses will not process all,
because they but receive . . .
interpreting the input is
the way that you perceive.

It works in life, just like in song,
as nature plays for you
the concert of her secrets in
the key of all that's true.

Dance whenever the tempo's good,
and sing along in spite
of whether or not you know the steps
or get the lyrics right.

Perception, like piano scales,
is not about the thing.
It's knowing your instrument very well . . .
and constant practicing!