Treehouse (An Attic Adventure)


Do you ever forget your first attic adventure, do you? It’s like a treehouse in a home. It’s a world all its own. What if Deep Purple is playing in the background? Do you let your imagination run free? Do you let your clothes loosen and follow the pictures in your mind? It’s hot you know. Really hot!

Climbing on up to my treehouse, a place without rhythm and blues, its old glory road, with mystery of host, and sprites that come called when their due. Sailing the world all around me, here and beyond what is new, developing war on ancient shores, I’m asleep but in truth I am you. Climbing each step of a ladder, the bark fills like part of my shoe, am I so old, that what fog does hold, will still be a naked view. Feeling the beat of Deep Purple, a back door knocking woo hoo, a 16th in time, a Mozart of time, I’m hard, a man still stuck in G_D’s youth. Thinking a ladder is needed, to climb to the top of the roof, I want higher still to seek a strange thrill to dream and know I’m alive.

Climbing on up to my treehouse, where circles light when I smile, a deadly a dew my fortune a strew, I’m naked, in search of the ark. If I open the back door of heaven, a strange and beautiful way. Alive at last, the stars fly past, the strings of eternity, stay, and Ritchie plays in such a baroque, weird kind of way, “it’s not the kill, it’s the thrill of the chase“.

You see up here in my treehouse, adventure comes quickly and free, for far and spread wide, horizons abide, by wishes and magic and creed. It seems I found the mystic, a pleasure not found by speed, in sinewy grace, my hair all misplaced, the world all crawls under this tree. I climb to reach now this backdoor, now older but younger in me, while deep in the gloom, the purple blooms, my imagination is wild and free.

Come scale your mind in my treehouse, bring your body for free, loosen your clothes, let yourself go, and be yourself beauty in need. Come hear the 1/16th beat beating, the hammer of music and tongue, as Deep Purple plays, let yourself stray, to the backdoor of heaven’s gate. The backdoor of heaven’s gate. The backdoor of heaven’s gate.

Climbing on up to my treehouse, a place without rhythm and blues, its old glory road with mystery of host, and sprites that come called when their due.

Do you ever forget your first attic adventure, do you? It’s like a treehouse in a home. It’s a world all its own. What if Deep Purple is playing in the background? Do you let your imagination run free? Do you let your clothes loosen and follow the pictures in your mind? It’s hot you know. Really hot! – 06.04.2015 –דָּנִיֵּאל

(It’s not the kill, it’s the thrill of the chase) – Knocking At Your Back Door lyrics © EMI Music Publishing, BMG RIGHTS MANAGEMENT US, LLC

The Cabin

Come along with me , let me take you there, where the children play, writing mystery to air, it’s not so far away, that your never free, disturb your darker life, train your heart to see. In an older wood, that laughs at finery, while the sun grows hot, in transparency, where lost boys do play, with strange spark, this day, shroud my heart in the cabin, okay. Bring your pens along, bring some color too, we will write strange words, sing if what we could, oh there’s guns and dolls, and a mind or three, we will build this dream in this older tree.

And were spinning in the cabin, speaking spells upon free time, making magic out of fodder, books of shadows out of rhyme, well were walking reflective waters, to the charm that never dies.

We are crafting canon letters in the cabin of our life, oh my friend we found a secret, of a brilliance in disguise, look it talks just like an angel, tea doll words they always rhyme. Wendy will you take us higher through the upper window back, oh it’s just a little secret, to guard the pirate front attack. For you know we hide a treasure, that no witch has ever seen, it’s the cabin in Missouri, sometimes myths are built on dreams.

And were spinning in the cabin, speaking spells upon free time, making magic out of fodder, books of shadows out of rhyme, well were walking reflective waters, to the charm that never dies.

Gray eyed spy that looks for coding, in the codex that we spin, secret agents, in the nighttime, when you hide beneath roof tin. For I think I heard a story, that was transferred by these walls, we will spy upon the neighbors, when our cabin leader calls. For this cabin reaches unkempt gates, where children hide their fates, and they sell their souls to hidden thoughts, that life initiates. Oh this cabin celebrates a time, when play it ruled the earth, when the genius of that unseen brought forth a richer birth. Well it seems I found a wooden source, that sparkles like a dream, and who would have thought, we found the way, to live what was unseen.

And were spinning in the cabin, speaking spells upon free time, making magic out of fodder, books of shadows out of rhyme, well were walking reflective waters, to the charm that never dies.

The cabin has disappeared now, a victim of progress, and development, much in a sad way like the imagination and play of so many, both young and old. The cabin is dedicated to Diane, (whom I have always loved) the Wendy to many of us lost lads, tearing through the fields in summertime, and finding rejuvenation for our unconquered spirits and minds, in the cabin. – 01.20.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל