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Geronimo Is Dead! ©

Gordon Fjaelberg
Bridgend, Wales

How I wish that I
Could find religion,
And finish loving
Lucy by the stairs;
Little though we mind
These frequent lapses,
Her soul receives
A mention in my prayers.
Often, on my own,
I'm sitting thinking
Of opportunities
I can't replace;
Grateful that I
Bought a ukelele,
For music's one
Emotion I embrace.

Geronimo is dead,
And who can blame him?
I'd go myself,
But can't afford the fare.
Do you believe that
Heaven helped to tame him?
I'd maybe learn myself,
If I get there.

Yesterday I dreamed
Of being elsewhere,
A distant place
That I no longer knew.
Seemingly, the further
We can travel,
The less that anybody
Gets to do.
Whither now are
Passion and adventure?
As faded as the
Knee-pads on my jeans,
Happiness took
Second place to Safety,
And Hercules
Died somewhere in our teens.

Geronimo is dead
And don't you know it,
Just when we need him most
He's up and gone.
Feelings come,
I cannot help but show it,
Now I'll lament
His passing with my song.

Here's one simple thing
He never told us,
Here's one thing you'd
Never hear him say:
"Don't extend your senses
Past their margins,
Don't let imagination
Out to play."

Geronimo is dead,
Who can deny it?
Face down in the dust
Where he'd been thrown;
Voices clamour loud
To swamp his logic,
Replace his words
With dirges of their own:

"Don't climb a mountain, child,
For goodness knows
You might just stub a toe.
Don't fall in love, because
The chances are
Your love may never grow."
So sad to say
But that's the way
Things seem today;
And yet I'm sure
There must be more,
What is life for?

The need to climb above
And take a chance
That we may never fall.
The need to suffer love
And trust to luck
That love will conquer all.
The joy of writing songs
And hoping words
Don't crash into a wall;
We crave you still
For hope redeems,
At least until
The end of dreams.

Until the moment
When the birds refuse to fly.
Until the moment
When the clouds won't roll on by.
Until the moment
When the mountains aren't so high.
Until the moment
When the sun deserts the sky.

Don't tell me: "No!
This isn't so."

In spite of facts
Which still steadfastly
Fill my head;
Because of things
No longer done,
Implied, or said;
I heard them say
It isn't wise
To leave your bed.
I'm sad to say
I learned today
That the spirit of
Geronimo is dead!

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