Christopher

In my fantasy Im a pantomime I'll just move my hands and everyone sees what I mean Words are too messy And it's way past time To hand in my mouth Paint my face white and try to reinvent the sea One wave at a time Speak without my voice And see the world by candle light I ain't afraid to let it out I'm not afraid to take that fall But I've found beyond all doubt You say more by saying nothing at all In my fantasy No such thing as time Minutes bleed into days of avant garde art Show me your heresy and I'll show you mine We only speak in pantomimes on this carpet ride I ain't afraid to let it out I'm not afraid to take that fall But I've found beyond all doubt You say more by saying nothing at all n my fantasy You look good entwined In my hair and skin and spit and sweat and spilled red wine You're my deep secret I'm your pantomime I'll just move my hands I promise You'll see what I mean I fear, I shall begin to grow in love With my dear self, and my most prosp’rous parts, They do so spring, and burgeon; I can feel A whimsy in my blood: I know not how, Success hath made me wanton. I could skip Out of my skin, now, like a subtle snake, I am so limber. O! Your parasite Is a most precious thing, dropped from above, Not bred ’mongst clods, and clo[d]polles, here on earth. I muse, the mysterie was not made a science, It is so liberally professed! Almost, All the wise world is little else, in nature But parasites, or sub-parasites. And yet I mean not those, that have your bare town-art, To know, who’s fit to feed ’hem; have no house, No family, no care, and therefore mold Tales for men’s ears, to bait that sense; or get Kitchen-invention, and some stale receipts To please the belly, and the groin; nor those, With their court-dog-tricks, that can fawn, and fleer, Make their revenue out of legs, and faces, Echo my-Lord, and lick away a moth: But you fine, elegant rascal, that can rise, And stoop like an arrow; Shoot through the air, as nimbly as a star; Turn short, as doth a swallow; and be here, And there, and here, and yonder, all at once; Present to any humor, all occasion; And change a visor, swifter, than a thought! This is the creature, had the art born with him; Toils not to learn it, both doth practice it Out of most excellent nature: and such sparks, Are the true parasites, others but their zanies.