My Oldest Memory

I cracked my knuckles, and I said grace

And gave thanks for being a hundred and still feeling amazed.

Out where the waves wrestle with the dirty brine,

This is a lonely place. This was a home of mine.

After the struggle, Id watch the sand settle

Over the quiet reef. Its my oldest memory.

And I dont know whose land were on.

Is this an island that plots like a villain,

Or an old ghost friend we dont believe in?

I dont know.

I curse the weapon we stub our toes on.

Its the land of make believe, cant you see, cant you see?

Now in the dirt where I put my feet, and in the trunk of my body,

Im only shy, here, when I want to be, my head between my cypress knees.

And in the top of the canopy of the trees I am climbing,

The morning sun here, you will see. Its my oldest memory.

And I dont know whose land were on.

Is this an island that plots like a villain,

Or an old ghost friend we dont believe in?

Is this an island that plots like a villain,

Or an old ghost friend we dont believe in?

I dont know