For A Spanish Guitar

The dissonant bells of the sea
 Who are ringing the rhymes of the deep
 As they sing of the ages asleep
 Not so near or so far
 And the old masters wind of the waves
 Sped forth for the free men and slaves
 Whispers of secrets it saves
 And about whom they are
 And the workings of sunshine and rain
 And the visions they paint that remain
 Pulsate from my soul through my brain
 In a spanish guitar
 The beggar whom sits in the street
 On his miserable throne of defeat
 Envisions no wealth there to meet
 Thinking nowhere is far
 And the laughter of children employed
 By the fantasies not yet destroyed
 By the dogmas of those they avoid
 Knowing not what they are
 And the right and the wrong and insane
 And the answers they cannot explain
 Pulsate from my soul through my brain
 In a spanish guitar
 To play on a spanish guitar
 With the sun shining down where you are
 Skipping and singing a bar
 From the music around
 Just to laugh through the columns of trees
 To soar like a seagull in breeze
 To stand in the rain if you please
 Or to never be found