Puckett Publishing

Publishing the works of Chuck Puckett since 1999...


A summersmoke is rising to the autumn air
Not too surprising and I find I do not care
The words between us seem to hover there
Whispering "I love you" in the shade
I move too quickly, you move to slow
We move together and we find we do not know
The secret longing, instead we choose to show a masquerade

Four madmen only wandering astray
Their faces lonely, but their hands they have a way
Of tracing figures in the air that seem to say,
"This world before you will soon fade."
Four women greet them with their arms opened wide
Their bodies need them, though they throw away their minds
But the mind of a madman, that's someone who has tried a masquerade.

The stage we stand upon it has a gentle feel
The script we're reading from is spoken as if real
But the daggers that we use are made of deadly steel
And real are the graves in which we're laid
Until they lay us we will stamp and stump awhile
We will protray ourselves as if we always smile
The better occupation is to wander in a wild masquerade.

A summersmoke is rising from a summer fire
Not too surprising, no, not to you or I
Neither one of us wants to be a liar
Wants to lie in the bed that we've made
You move with caution, I move with speed
Our lives are options that are waiting for a deed
When the last word is spoken, the last thing we will need is this masquerade

© 2011 Chuck Puckett