The morning sun rises high to halo the mountain gold,
But spreads no gold dust in the valleys of desire.
The boys wake with buttermilk biscuits,
And go outside to chop wood for the fire.
The house slips sideways
And messages sizzle down the wires.
Not enough money/Send more money/Repossession/Three months behind
And the children make demands of Santa Claus.
I want a shiny new bike to ride.
Mother my shoes have holes.
My feet hurt.
Mother, a telescope?
The stars aren't close enough.
Debts tallied in stone buildings of dead eyes.
File cabinets crammed wall to wall with believable lies.
The calls surge in.
When will you send?/This is an attempt to collect a debt/Further action will be taken.
The refrigerator whispers
Not enough money.
There is never enough money.
The classified ads go out.
Family heirloom/Make me an offer/I have seven sons with good strong backs/Two daughters with finger callous to the needle/Will work for Money, Food or Social Status.
Mother please, a typewriter for Christmas?
There's not enough money.
There's never enough money.
But the mother the world sways.
This vertigo is unbearable.
I feel too much.
The stars make me swoon;
I make love to moons.
Caress the soft earth with my hips,
And my lips lap at the wine of words.
You dream and I ache.
Today I want three yards of silk.
Tomorrow to walk with my head held high,
but first my dear boy we must survive.
But Mother my dreams!
Dreams we can't eat.
The world rings to ching a ling ding ching a ling.
So mother goes outside to shake change from her children's pockets.
Mother goes outside to sweat dreams from her children's eyes.
Mother goes outside to shake change from her childrens pockets.
Ching a ling ding
Ching a ling.
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