lost everything but my zitherlost everything but my zithertwang it goessproing when a string breaks
i've only six strings leftsproing each one went of the original thirty-twountil only six were leftonly these six were left
twang they go and i imaginethey are buffalo colliding on the plain
six buffalo lying on their sides, unconsciousO what musicO what music the buffalo makewhen they are unconscious
twang go the buffaloand the big moon comes out of the skylike clumsy fingers
and sometimes i sing as the buffalo collideyes there's the moon and i'm singing
twang those two hit head-firsttwang and one of them is hit broadsidetwang i sing in a small voice as the dusty plain rumbles
get a guitar get a guitarsmall little subcompact cars will drive o'er the plainand the buffalothe buffalo will scatter like tectonic plates
later by the fire, we're surrounded by carsyes a ring of cars runs round usas we sit by the fire
you teach me to yodelwe drink cups of coffeeand the buffalowait
what could they be thinkingstanding 'neath the starsperhaps they're imagining the twang of impactgetting in what thoughts they can--beforethey go blank
but the buffalo have never seen methough i've often watched themlying on their wide sidesin the short grass of the plain
i walk around listeninglook into their empty brown eyesO buffalo, buffalowhat joy you bringwhen you make that sound
