The Holding Hand

There is no shape, there is no form
But a smoky rolling mass
So it billows like the sea
Surges overcome to pass
Some power exceeds muscle
Even the weightless can outweigh
Put one over in the hustle
Teacher becomes protege
And we row, on we go, through these murky water bodies
Little known, little shown, just a distant call of sound
See the couplets in the sun
In an alabaster hue
Slouched across these spangled acres
Rich outlandish revenue
See it come and see it go
As you find it then it’s lost
Far beyond the holding hand
In a pipe dream double-crossed
And we row, on we go, through these murky water bodies
Little known, little shown, just a distant call of sound
'O limp wristed god, limp wristed god
Don’t you know I’m not at a fault in your weakened arms
Sent off at a breathless pace
Softened come the fall from grace
'O limp wristed god, limp wristed god
Don’t you know I’m not at a fault in your weakened arms
Knocking on your window is a cavalcade
Pleading for relief, a call to aid