Enjoyable aimlessness at nine

There is no theme to hold me down
To build this set, to pick these sounds
It's just what appeals to me
There is no theme on me!

Everything will be harvested at nine

Autumn's here, for good or will
Maybe now, the earth can chill.

So, I'm back. At nine.

In winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow candle-light.
In summer, quite the other way,
I have to go to bed by day.
With my new schedule, five to two,
Both are things I get to do.

My hour of hurricane relief

Oh, this round globe, this warming orb
A planet full of winds and rain
And all the moisture it can obsorb
And all the people and their pain
And all the poverty's that there
And such neglect, added to that
And to see if they can bear
A twenty-five trillion gallon hat
And now the land's become a lake
And now those people have to move
We may not correct all mistakes
But at least we keep the groove.