A tribe is a way of conning yourself
Into thinking you're not alone --
A ritual dance the natives perform
In ceremonial lodges,
Hand-in-hand, tongue-in-cheek, thumb-up-your-ass
Consecration of membership,
Robes of an unbroken chain of order
That clothe the hairless ape within.
A friend is a way of conning yourself
Into thinking you're not a freak --
A listener to your many laments,
Like a human sanctuary.
Give and take, take and give, one last mistake,
The nature of a long kinship,
From rags to riches, and then back to rags,
Tatters of remembered neglect.
A dream is a way of helping yourself
Believe you'll never really die --
A ritual dance your brain must perform
To keep you moving with the tribe,
Arm-in-arm, locked in step, one of the clan,
Until you sleep, and freedom pulls
You out of line, and then you know,
One day we all must dream alone.
Copyright 2007, by Jon Gregory