I'm gonna to go down to the river. It's a long walk and I've got to start now. I'm gonna muster my weary soul and make my feet take me there. The river's gonna be running in full flush now, as heavy and swollen as a woman with a child in her belly. The woods are gonna be green. Green and buzzing with all manner of life. This time of year, you can sit and see the trees reaching higher and higher for the sky. I'm taking all the books with me. I've got 'em packed all in a case. I'm gonna set 'em free. Gonna take 'em down to the river.
Gonna spread 'em out on the riverbank. They're gonna open themselves up to the air, to the waves, to the sand, to the light. Books got to be aired out every now and then. The good in 'em gets stale, else. I'm gonna open 'em up and then wade out in the river. I might lie down. Might try to get clean. Might try to get right with God. All those books I've read. Let the current take the words right out of me. Let the sun bleach the pages blank and clean. Gonna spread 'em out on the riverbank.
They tried to keep 'em hidden, tried to keep 'em dark. But I found 'em. I found 'em in that old house I live in now. They were packed away up in the attic and away down in the cellar. The boxes weren't even marked right. But I went up the stairs, searching for clean air, and I found the books. I went down the stairs, searching for some quiet, dark place, and I found the books. I brought 'em out. I cared for 'em. I healed their hurts and mended their broken backs. And now it's my turn. Those pages, my how they will flutter and fly. That ink's gonna run a trail of tears into the river. They tried to keep 'em hidden, tried to keep 'em dark.
That water's getting stained with all those things. The ink's running out of the books now. Each book a river. Each book adding to the river. The ink's running out of my skin now. I'm stained inside. Those books, they get into your blood. They get under your skin. They turn into your hair and eyelashes and the bits of your fingernails that you bite off and spit out. They say your body gets made new every once in a while. I don't know. I'm gonna keep on putting books in the river. I'm not trying to hide 'em, just making things free. That water's getting stained with all those things.
That water's getting stained with all those things. The ink's running out of the books now. Each book a river. Each book adding to the river. The ink's running out of my skin now. I'm stained inside. Those books, they get into your blood. They get under your skin. They turn into your hair and eyelashes and the bits of your fingernails that you bite off and spit out. They say your body gets made new every once in a while. I don't know. I'm gonna keep on putting books in the river. I'm not trying to hide 'em, just making things free. That water's getting stained with all those things.
- Jayne Meyncke
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