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Du genre humain

de Charlie Peacock

Here I am a man of quiet demeanor
No more lust for spinning plates
Happy heart and happy shoes
Helping me lose these walking blues

Hallelujah in the sandbox
Hallelujah I’m at play
There’s no reason to think this season
Is anything but a gift, not a battle hard won

I got strong ties to the summertime
Where the sun don’t set till almost nine
Every day is a homily
To why I live the mystery
Of young love perfection
A cosmic connection, call it destiny

Both of us so ready to be rescued
It was written in our copy of the script
Every word, both hers and mine
Some sort of temporary lifeline if you get my drift

I got strong ties to the summertime
Where the sun don’t set till almost nine
Every day is a homily
To why I live the mystery
Of young love perfection
A cosmic connection, call it destiny

Amazing grace and love so true
Will get the last word when we are through
No amount of imagination
Can prepare one for the patience
Of young love perfection
A cosmic connection, one long case of miraculous
Providential, destiny

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