The Crazy Shades

All the ghosts are dead
And all the madmen live forever.
And many of the grassblades bled
In Pennsylvania's Summer weather.

Any ghosts may walk,
And any who care to sleep
May stand upon a rock
And very gently weep.

And all the crazy shades
From red to violet-blue
Are splashed across the glades
Where violence met its due.

Now mankind takes its measure
From an individual man.
The single king's our azure
In a sky without a span.

We give such high regard to death
And such little thought for life;
Forgiving all at graveside Lethe,
But the living's trifles stir up strife.

Fire, fire, glowing;
Translucent fingers fast as flight.
Fire quickly growing,
Quickly tearing up the night.

Fire bright and furious
Has no lips or eyes,
Yet roars at the sight so curious
When every thing it touches dies.

How important is our star,
The one we call the sun?
When seen from sufficiently far,
It's an insignificant one.

How important is an ant
Or a single human cell?
Held as sacred, in descant,
But in practice aimlessly expelled.

And all the crazy shades
And all the roads they paint,
All the sights and all the grades
Of reality make the saint.

And any good host
Will close the metal door
And drink a toast
To ghosts evermore.

Birds are flying now
Trusting well their own white feathers.
Find the word and find out how
Even the dead can live together.

Fire, fire, blushing;
Rushing upwards after dying sparks.
Fire, fire, crushing;
Pushing in and out of human hearts.

Fire in the mind and fire
Filling all the soul.
It's in our blood and gears and wire
Swallowing us whole.