The Battle I've Won

In the pine grove the golden finch has told me a yarn,
He sits with his face hidden in his nest so warm,
And I know I’m crazy to be here in this equation,
But I’ve got to march slowly in the battle I’ve won.

And this culture has fallen like a stamp in the mud,
And this rapture of season has come on like a flood --
I’m incensed and fragile against all that goes on,
And I’ve held on too firmly to say that I’ve won.

There’s a market in the park that sets up at dawn,
And a casino sign flashing a man with a baton,
In the churches the prayers all weighing a ton,
And there can be no supper until the last soul is won.

I feel like a rug a whole army trampled upon,
Their boots blistered with a burden as light as the sun,
Their hearts as awake as an administrative yawn –-
Being beaten this way is the only battle I’ve won.

There’s a war tearing through the old graveyard,
There’s fighting in the firelight that licks the poulard,
Bombarding and pounding au bout de son,
And I’ll know in my last breath if the battle I’ve won.