In the new part of the town
Suburban myths gone around
Of a brand new trend of building
I took off investigating.
A place strangely called Town of Cacatz
A field not plagued by mice or the rats
A stone throw from old Squatter’s Brook
Neighboring a patch of wood.
Ride the steel horse through the heart
At the crossroads take the right
Where the poor man returns home
Gates guarded by garden gnome
Where colored girls start to sing
Gangs of youths welcome the spring
Raising bottles, fiddling with cars
Read graffiti like you’d read stars.
Where tired housewives start their slumber
And the old folk don’t remember
How the steel beasts got so fast
Spinning tales of simpler past.
A patch of them age old trees
Jolting back their memories
Of a fellow called the Squatter
A weird old man with a stutter.
A far war fought some time ago
They must have known every widow
For all stopped once or twice in here
Close to trees they started to heal.
Seems like a lifetime or more
Since he walked through their front door
Three times three knocks in the morning
It was his known way of calling.
Every morning by the brook
Running through that eerie wood
He rose…God knows where he’d camp
For that ground is mighty damp.
From an old cloth he’d untuck
Stale bread to feed every duck,
Swans, water fowls at his boot
Keen to share his day old loot.
With a stretch he greets the morning
Rubbing his joints, yawning, moaning
Stocktaking his souvenirs
Newspaper clips, apple peels.
He emerges from the forest
Like wood spirit from his long rest
Heavy footprints like a thud
‘Till he walks off all the mud.
Mo..mo..morning…Ma..ma..Maam.
Would you have place for a man?
Fre..fre..fresh bread on your table
Invite me I’m no tro…trouble.
Se..se..see you need a hand
I’m a fi..fine instrument
I can tell you where to build
Es…escape the scorching heat.
Like long ago wis..wi..wise folk
They took their ca..cats for the ro. road
Wa..wa..watched them choose the spot
To put their children’s co..co..cot.
Clever be…beasts are them ca..cats
I place all my be..be..be..bets
Orphan seed grows below your heart
A se..se..secret you still hide.
You can’t fo..fool this old ca..cat
For su..su..supper and a be..bed
I show you the new nursery
He’ll never know mi..misery.
He was pacing after dinner
When the hot sun became dimmer
Stuttered out some lullabies
The widow heard songs and cries.
In the first light of the morning
His hostess thought “leave him snoring”
Sure she needed helping hands
Short of money, short of friends.
With a fresh hot cup of tea
She followed a honey bee
Eager to share last night’s vision
This town will raise happy children.
In the back room by the bed
Where she found our squatter dead.
Smiling, bread packed for the road
He boarded the one way boat.
Clutching white chalk in his hand
The sketches were his own brand
Drawn across the wooden floors
Cradles, cats and little boys
A credit to the folks nearby
They gave him a nice goodbye.
They brought flowers to his grave
His headstone still bears no name.
As time took its toll on houses
Passed the woods a new town rises.
From the damp and sun scorched dirt
You can witness this new birth.
Feeling their dreams would expend
Baby boomers of this land
Music loving lads and ladettes
All their first words sounded “cacats”
A new tradition soon emerged
To walk across muddy earth
Feed the wild ducks day old bread
Talk about the dreams you had
When the silver moon‘s its fullest
Take a stroll across the forest
Follow your cat out to the field
He’s called to where you should build.
Where they feel the squatter sits
Steel machines cart pastel bricks
A good place to raise happy lads
Keeping cacats as their pets.
THE END
Suburban myths gone around
Of a brand new trend of building
I took off investigating.
A place strangely called Town of Cacatz
A field not plagued by mice or the rats
A stone throw from old Squatter’s Brook
Neighboring a patch of wood.
Ride the steel horse through the heart
At the crossroads take the right
Where the poor man returns home
Gates guarded by garden gnome
Where colored girls start to sing
Gangs of youths welcome the spring
Raising bottles, fiddling with cars
Read graffiti like you’d read stars.
Where tired housewives start their slumber
And the old folk don’t remember
How the steel beasts got so fast
Spinning tales of simpler past.
A patch of them age old trees
Jolting back their memories
Of a fellow called the Squatter
A weird old man with a stutter.
A far war fought some time ago
They must have known every widow
For all stopped once or twice in here
Close to trees they started to heal.
Seems like a lifetime or more
Since he walked through their front door
Three times three knocks in the morning
It was his known way of calling.
Every morning by the brook
Running through that eerie wood
He rose…God knows where he’d camp
For that ground is mighty damp.
From an old cloth he’d untuck
Stale bread to feed every duck,
Swans, water fowls at his boot
Keen to share his day old loot.
With a stretch he greets the morning
Rubbing his joints, yawning, moaning
Stocktaking his souvenirs
Newspaper clips, apple peels.
He emerges from the forest
Like wood spirit from his long rest
Heavy footprints like a thud
‘Till he walks off all the mud.
Mo..mo..morning…Ma..ma..Maam.
Would you have place for a man?
Fre..fre..fresh bread on your table
Invite me I’m no tro…trouble.
Se..se..see you need a hand
I’m a fi..fine instrument
I can tell you where to build
Es…escape the scorching heat.
Like long ago wis..wi..wise folk
They took their ca..cats for the ro. road
Wa..wa..watched them choose the spot
To put their children’s co..co..cot.
Clever be…beasts are them ca..cats
I place all my be..be..be..bets
Orphan seed grows below your heart
A se..se..secret you still hide.
You can’t fo..fool this old ca..cat
For su..su..supper and a be..bed
I show you the new nursery
He’ll never know mi..misery.
He was pacing after dinner
When the hot sun became dimmer
Stuttered out some lullabies
The widow heard songs and cries.
In the first light of the morning
His hostess thought “leave him snoring”
Sure she needed helping hands
Short of money, short of friends.
With a fresh hot cup of tea
She followed a honey bee
Eager to share last night’s vision
This town will raise happy children.
In the back room by the bed
Where she found our squatter dead.
Smiling, bread packed for the road
He boarded the one way boat.
Clutching white chalk in his hand
The sketches were his own brand
Drawn across the wooden floors
Cradles, cats and little boys
A credit to the folks nearby
They gave him a nice goodbye.
They brought flowers to his grave
His headstone still bears no name.
As time took its toll on houses
Passed the woods a new town rises.
From the damp and sun scorched dirt
You can witness this new birth.
Feeling their dreams would expend
Baby boomers of this land
Music loving lads and ladettes
All their first words sounded “cacats”
A new tradition soon emerged
To walk across muddy earth
Feed the wild ducks day old bread
Talk about the dreams you had
When the silver moon‘s its fullest
Take a stroll across the forest
Follow your cat out to the field
He’s called to where you should build.
Where they feel the squatter sits
Steel machines cart pastel bricks
A good place to raise happy lads
Keeping cacats as their pets.
THE END
