Through mostly vacant streets a Baker from the outskirts of his town earned his living peddling sweets from a ragged cart he dragged around.
The clever Fox crept close behind, kept an ever watchful eye for a chance to steal a Ginger spicecake or a Boysenberry pie.

Looking down was the hungry Crow:
When the time is right I’ll strike and condescend to the earth below and take whichever treat I like!
The moment the Baker turned around to shoo the Fox off from his cart, the Crow swooped down and snatched a shortbread cookie and a German chocolate tart.
Using most unfriendly words that the village children had not yet heard, the Baker shouted threats by Canzonet to curse the crafty bird:
You rotten wooden mixing spoon!
Why, you midnight winged raccoon!
You’d better bring those pastries back, you no good, burnt-black-macaroon!!!

The Fox approached the tree where the bird was perched, delighted, in his nest:
Brother Crow, don’t you remember me?
It’s your old friend Fox with a humble request.
If you could share just a modest piece, seeing as I distracted that awful man…
This failed to persuade the Crow in the least, so the Fox rethought his plan:
Then, if your lovely song would grace my ears, or, to even hear you speak would ease my pains and fears.
The Crow looked down with the candy in his beak.
Your poems of wisdom, my Good Crow, what a paradise they bring!
This flattery pleased the proud bird so, he opened his mouth and began to sing:
Your subtle acclamation’s true, best to give praise where praise is due.
Every Rook and Jay in the Corvidae has been Raven about me too!
They admire me, one and all… must be the passion in my ‘Caw’, my slender bill, known through the Escadrille, my fierce, commanding claw…

[the cookie drops, Fox retrieves it -- there is commotion in the town as the Baker gives chase. Crow is humiliated, realizes he's been tricked, continues his song]

Ah, I’ve got a Walnut-brownie-brain and Molasses in my veins, crushed graham cracker crust, my powdered Sugar funnelcake cocaine.
Let the Crescent Cookie rise!
These Carob-colored Almond eyes would rest to see my Cashew Princess in the Swirling Marble Sky.
We’ll rest upon the Knee where all divisions cease to be and rootbeer float in our Banana Boat across the Tapioca Sea.
When letting all attachments go is the only prayer we know.
May it be so, may it be so, may it be so, oh…
Amen

Not one motion of her gesture could I forget
The prettiest bag lady I ever met
Pushing her cart in the rain
Then gathering plastic and glass
She watched the day pass
Not hour by hour
But pain by pain
If I was a basket filled with holes
Then she was the sand I tried to hold
And ran out behind me
As I swung with some invisible hands

I stopped believing, you start to move
She was like wine turned to water then turned back to wine
I stopped my leaving and the better man bloomed
And you can pour us out and we won’t mind

I was dead, then alive
She was like wine turned to water and turned back to wine
You can pour us out, we won’t mind
A scratch around the mouth of the glass
My life is no longer mine

If you’re still looking for a blanket
Sweetie, I’m sorry, I’m no sort of fabric
But if you need a tailor
Then take your torn shirt, and stumble up my stairs
And mumble your pitiful prayers
And in your tangled night’s sleep, our midnight needles go to work
Until all comfort and fear flows in one river
Down on the shelf by the mirror where you see yourself whole
And it makes you shiver

I stopped believing, you start to move
She was like wine turned to water then turned back to wine
I stopped my leaving and the better man bloomed
And you can pour us out and we won’t mind

I was dead, then alive
She was like wine turned to water and turned back to wine
You can pour us out, we won’t mind
A scratch around the mouth of the glass
My life is no longer mine

Our lives are not our own
Even the wind lays still
All I felt was fire and cold
And movement, movement
If they ask you for a sign of the Father
Tell them it’s movement, movement and repose

And not one motion her gesture could I forget,
The prettiest bag lady I ever met…
Pushing her cart in the rain, then gathering plastic and glass
She watched the day pass,
Not hour by hour…but pain by pain.
I was a basket filled with holes, and she was the sand I tried to hold
That ran out behind me as I swung with some invisible hand.

I stopped believing, you start to move
(She was like wine turned to water then turned back to wine)
I stopped my leaving and the better man bloomed
(And you can pour us out and we won’t mind)

I was dead then alive,
She was like wine turned to water then turned back to wine;
You can pour us out, we won’t mind,
As scratch around the mouth of the glass, “My life is no longer mine.”

And if you’re still looking for a blanket, sweetie,
I’m sorry, I’m no sort of fabric;
But if you need a tailor…then take your torn shirt, stumble up my stairs,
And mumble your pitiful prayers and in your tangled, knotted sleep,
Our midnight needles go to work until all comfort and fear flows in one river
Down in the shop by the mirror where you see yourself whole…and it makes you shiver.

I stopped believing, you start to move
(She was like wine turned to water then turned back to wine)
I stopped my leaving and the better man bloomed
(And you can pour us out and we won’t mind)

I was dead then alive,
She was like wine turned to water then turned back to wine;
You can pour us out, we won’t mind,
As scratch around the mouth of the glass, “Our lives our not our own.”

Even the wind lay still,
Our essence was fire and cold and movement, movement…
Oh, if they ask you for the sign of the father in you,
Tell them it’s movement, movement, movement of…hope.