BAG OF DIRT
I thought I was a bag of dirt,
A bag that hoped and loved and hurt,
A bag of cosmic dust,
That aches and yearns and feels a must.
I thought I was a bag of dirt.
That grows a beard and wears a shirt,
A bag that talks and laughs and thinks,
A dirtbag, I hope it doesn't stink.
Joni sang we are just stardust,
Sounds to me she had it sussed;
Golden though from out the garden,
Stardust that can melt or harden.
This bag of dirt it has a life,
It makes an effort battling strife,
What is its purpose some may ask,
Is it to fulfil some divine task?
This dirt was born and will surely die,
And in between those walls is I,
One thing more I want to say,
Make best of life I try each day.
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