Wild Ones

Way up north where the trees hang heavy, dripping and covered in moss, live the wild ones in a wild land - oh if their homes could talk! The rain falls hard and the wind blows cold their fires still burn so bright, down by the river they dance and sing and howl in the half moon light. When the sun sits high you'll see them running out along the beach with boards in hand they return to the water the ocean's got much to teach. The sirens sing with tsunamis saying super sweet surf is here and the slimy slugs will run to the shore holding in all their air. See, all the creatures of the sea know of and speak about this land, they roll with the tides towards this place following songs and sand. Cuz gathered together with sandy feet and salted, seaweed hair the wild ones will come home to the jungle to tell their twisted tales. In a pack that hums they mount the stairs and descend to the deep red room where thoughts and dreams become real words that sweep their souls like brooms. Sounds will vibrate, and reverberate, right through their wooden walls - the literary howls amongst these islands' many calls. So, if ever you're up north just listen to the breeze cuz the music that you'll find there is bound to set you free. - AMK.