Radioman

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There is a tiny little man living inside the radio. (Voice over poet for the short animation I am working on)

Kids are odd

Curious and bizarre

Being new to this world maybe

Gives them another feel and touch

Things don’t make sense as much

 

Walls no different than a plain paper

Once it’s done you can’t stop them any further

All the things that we didn’t know

But learned, not very far from along ago

 

Constant trouble maker, messy

Loads of actions and burdens to carry

Awkward, clumsy, call it lovely

When imagination was all, don’t you recall?

 

Mom told me stories; once upon a time she was a kid

Hoping I’d learn a lesson or two, she cared

She cut off her hair, rode on her bike

Almost chopped her fingers, twice

She would understand it all; I am her daughter alright

 

Grandpa on my dad’s side owned a radio. It was old

It was sitting by his bed, he kept it close

He turned it on every night before he fell asleep

What was he listening to? To the news, I think?!

That’s the habit he picked out when he was young

During the war maybe, no different than my time

He listened to it as he drowned in his dreams

Turned it off by morning, when he woke up fresh and clean

 

That radio was so mystical, difficult to explain

Pale light on the channel bar, all the noises it made

Even the way it worked all throughout the night

Left a lot of questions, couldn’t ask why

 

Maybe it’s in my genes, I don’t know

Mom had the same kind of vision, she told me so

I imagined a guy living on his own

One crazy fella, he was there alone

Mom thought that wasn’t just him, he couldn’t be the only one

Radio is too petit for a crowd, my thoughts were strong

 

He’s not just a plain worker, he’s the Radioman

How is it going to be today, weatherman?

Is it sunny, rainy? Do you feel the haze?

Can you see the stars from beyond the shade?

Sing, cast, act and play

Whatever happened in the world today

He must be smart, in a very different way

Perfect at his job, not even a second too late

 

I broke grandpa’s radio once, I never told anyone

“I am doing a little thinking”, who knows what I hunt

I had tried my ways but he responded to none

“How could he not?” the young mind of mine must’ve thought

Gotten all fired up

Is it something that I am doing or not?

 

Maybe he’s too small, couldn’t give up

Too tiny to cross the perfect world, it’s a glaring light

Does he really not

Want to find out what?

 

Mom said she couldn’t find anything after she broke in

I thought I could get him, but there was nothing within

Just a bunch of wires and chips

Dust and tubes and lamps; shapes very strict

He cannot live in this place, it’s just not right

Comes from a better world, he is too bright

 

Mom had imagined a better story

People living in boxes

Away from glory

For she found nothing fair

They were, I know, positively there

 

The radio was broken, didn’t work anymore

Nothing sadder than an empty radio, I mourn

Well who knows? Maybe I just scared him away

I know one thing and that’s for sure!

 

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