The Power of the Press

Fred and I had worked as gardeners in a graveyard in North London over the summer - 1972?-and I took my earnings and bought a sweet little Yamaha six-string. Returned to college - Utica - and by then knew perhaps four chords. My buddy Frank and I were stretching our legs on the lawn in front of one of the dorms after our drive, and at that moment, a reporter from the local rag wanted a "Utica welcomes back its returning students" story, so the guy pulled over two girls and a guy who we'd never seen before, and told me to play a song, and for everyone to sing....this accounts for Frank's deeply amused expression.

Let me melt like a stone in the mouth of the sun,

let me breathe
Like a single clear note I would gleam then be gone
Dressed in white like a summertime saint,
I could step off the edge and be done
The only son of an only son

Let me rise like the smoke from a fire in the night
to the stars
'Cross the deserts of space to the islands of light

I could pick one to circle and turn like a ring

out of mind, out of sight

At rest tonight in the restless night