Don't put your faith in tomorrow
For tomorrow never comes

Think about the future,
Make sure you plan it out.
But things will be different,
Of that there's no doubt.

Will you remember the morning,
After the night before?
When your stomach is doing somersaults,
And your head is throbbing sore?

Eat up what life throws you today,
Even if it is just some crumbs.
But:
don't put your faith in tomorrow,
For tomorrow never comes.

You can beg and steal and borrow,
Live your lives as drunken bums.
But:
Don't put your faith in tomorrow,
For tomorrow never comes.

We can march along life's highway,
with songs and beating drums.
But:
Don't put your faith in tomorrow,
For tomorrow never comes.

You may gnash your teeth in anger,
And chew life's gristle with your gums.
But:
Don't put your faith in tomorrow,
For tomorrow never comes.

You can reckon up cares and sorrow,
And add up life's difficult sums.
But:
Don’t put your faith in tomorrow,
For
tomorrow
never
.
.
.
.
comes!

It's the song of the soldier with his leather-clad feet,
Whilst his heart grows much colder and his head burns with heat.
Patrolling the frontiers of the empire we've built,
As we march in full armour, leather helmet and kilt.
Singing songs of our battles and our honours hard won.
But the legion enfolds you as a mother her son.

Chorus
Oh the legion asks no questions
And allegiance is the price.
You get harsh words and suggestions
And variety's the spice
In a life that's very simple
And a mission that is clear:
Follow duty and honour
And Caesar will cheer!

It's the curse of the soldier: weary, tired, and drawn.
To take insults from farmers and our country-men's scorn.
For we live off the country taking what we can find,
Sometimes given quite freely: sometimes robbing us blind.

Chorus
Oh the legion asks no questions
And allegiance is the price.
You get harsh words and suggestions
And variety's the spice
In a life that's very simple
And a mission that is clear:
Follow duty and honour
And Caesar will cheer!

Our centurions hate us, but they love us as well,
They can make our lives easy; they can make our lives hell.
They can beat us and flog us, they can flay us like foes,
And at need crucify us: feed our eyes to the crows.

Chorus
Oh the legion asks no questions
And allegiance is the price.
You get harsh words and suggestions
And variety's the spice
In a life that's very simple
And a mission that is clear:
Follow duty and honour
And Caesar will cheer!

But there's one thing that's certain we will give of our all,
When it looks like its curtains with our backs to the wall.
Holding short swords and shields from the Marne to the Rhine,
Though your druids may curse 'cross the sea's salty brine,
We will find you and slay you:
you can't beat Legion Nine.

Chorus
Oh the legion asks no questions
And allegiance is the price.
You get harsh words and suggestions
And variety's the spice
In a life that's very simple
And a mission that is clear:
Follow duty and honour
And Caesar will cheer!

We know desire is never just,
That thing which want which we discussed,
We would not want to destroy trust,
But what we feel is lust.
Pure lust.
Just lust.

Emotionally quite non-plussed,
We do the deeds that breed disgust,
When dreaming dreams that turn to dust,
On coming face to face with lust.
Pure lust.
Just lust.

We take deep breaths, try to adjust,
Resolve of iron turns to rust,
Although our heart strings are tight trussed,
We know that it is lust.
Pure lust.
Just lust.

Our feelings tell us that we must,
Accept this thing upon us ******,
But deep inside we cannot trust,
This thing we know is lust.
Pure lust.
Just lust.

But we say we shall not be rushed,
Disclaim emotion, quite august,
And we have therefore’d, so’d and thus’d,
But honestly: we know it’s lust.
Pure lust.
Just lust

So, shall we take it all on trust?
Enjoy the deeply desired ******,
Of pure emotion, warnings shushed,
And give our bodies up to lust?
Pure lust?
Just lust!
I lust!

I thought of you the other day,
But words that came I could not say.
They rolled around inside my head.
And then away like clouds they sped.

So odd for me to be tongue-tied,
When thinking of my muse: inspired
My poetry and verse and song.
Those thoughts of times that are long gone.

So often now my thoughts confused,
When on your countenance I mused,
What are these feelings long and deep,
Disturbing me when ere I sleep?

And then each morn when I awake,
The physicality is there.
Your memory a burning ache,
As distance means we cannot share.

When slumbering of you I dream,
Remembering with a smile.
So real to me those feelings seem,
My life is now a trial.

They mix my feelings, heart is scarred.
Why is it that it is so hard?
The memories - unchanged - are marred,
For you are and I as one are barred.

Recalling well-warmed beds and baths,
In other lives in other parts.
But we were forced down diff’rent paths,
And yet the mem’ries fill our hearts.

Our kisses moist and sweet and wet,
Enriching as our bodies met.
Entwined within each other’s arms,
And savouring deeply conjoined charms.

So, what to do and what to say?
How then to live each heart-wrenched day?
Your body now I cannot own,
So far apart our lives have grown!

A longing that we cannot sate,
Arousing dreadful, deep desire.
Nor wanton, willing, consummate,
To fan the flames of burning fire.

No answer do I have to this,
Those memories serene but strong.
Delicious days we surely miss,
And so, I put them in a song.

Although the day has run its race, and evening's curtain falls;
sometimes there is a tiny trace of daytime joy that calls;
the gentle rain down to the ground and then reflects the light,
of sister moon - so white, so round, which brightens up the night.

A Moonbow caused by falling rain
but not the arc of day,
as gleaming moon-drops light the lane
a moon-beam coloured way.

True Silver starts the coloured row, it makes the Moonbow's height,
it lifts our hearts from way down low, and sharpens up our sight.

A band of Pearl is bright as snow, so coruscating white
it gleams with radiance, as though it can redeem our plight.

A Moonbow caused by falling rain
but not the arc of day,
as gleaming moon-drops light the lane
a moon-beam coloured way.

The gleaming Opal silky flow, is middling, milky bright,
reflecting hopes and cares and woe, it fills dark with its light.

Then softer Amber's glistening glow, which hugs and holds us tight,
its warm smile reaching down below.  It soothes away our fright.

A Moonbow caused by falling rain
but not the arc of day,
as gleaming moon-drops light the lane
a moon-beam coloured way.

Then goodly Gold supports it all, like sunshine in the night,
completes the Moonbow's arc just so, makes everything all right.

A Moonbow caused by falling rain
but not the arc of day,
as gleaming moon-drops light the lane
a moon-beam coloured way.

The world has changed, the colours run
and merge to ghostly grey.
My love is dead, my life is done
what is there now to say?
All colour washed up, worn out, wan
no rainbows in the sky.

My world is grey, there is no fun
the colours once so gay,
are dead and buried, bleached.  As one
their hues are leached away.
I see no blues, no reds, nor green
only a Greybow to be seen.

A Greybow is not brilliant;
its colours start with black:
then go through grey to white.
They show just how we feel when sad,
and straddle day and night.

Black, morphs to Leaden colour
and then to vapid Grey;
then Ash, then colour-lacking White
brings on the end of day.

Black is the night despairing,
its deadly, dying death
leaching life from everyone,
taking their last breath.

Leaden is the sky above
when thunderstorms are due
cannot be transmuted,
and is heavy soft and true.

A Greybow is not brilliant;
its colours start with black:
then go through grey to white.
They show just how we feel when sad,
and straddle day and night.

Grey is indeterminate
and lies 'twixt back and white;
neither here and neither there,
nor colourful nor bright.

Ash reflects the residue
of fire when it's old,
the flames have died back to the ground,
the embers have gone cold.

A Greybow is not brilliant;
its colours start with black:
then go through grey to white.
They show just how we feel when sad,
and straddle day and night.

White is the shining, smiling, glowing,
brightness of a star,
lighting up the darkest night
to show us who we are.

But Black is the night despairing,
its deadly dying breath;
leaches life from everyone,
taking their last breath

A Greybow is not brilliant;
its colours start with black:
then go through grey to white.
They show just how we feel when sad,
and straddle day and night.

I see only a Greybow
no colours now and
...so
...it
...must
...end.

Each sees the world but through his eyes
for one man's truth is another man's lies.
The rainbow rises with its bright bold band
mean different things from where you stand.

The colours symbolise our view
and thus reflect what we think is true.
From yellow through orange to red
bright colours when the rain has fled;
then green through blue to purple
shows the North Sea and the Med.

Red for the Roman soldier's plume as it waves in the wind's embrace
or the blood that Britons spilled on the land as they fought for their living space.
Orange is the sun's warm kiss as it sinks at the end of day
or the slave-built terracotta roofs that are made of Roman clay.
Yellow is the legion's eagle that sits on the pole on high
or the blistering, beating, burning sun, that shines up high in the sky.

Green is the flowing, shifting sea of ripening, waving grain
or malachite coloured water, that leaves your hands with a stain.

Blue is the crashing, thrashing waves as the sea gave throat and roared
or the colour of the long dead Brit whose body’s been ignored.

Purple is the heathery ling that grows upon the heath
or the symbol of Imperial Rome, the grasping greedy thief.

So look at the Rainbow rising and see your dearest dream
but be careful what the colours say: they are not quite what they seem.
The colours of a rainbow stand bright against the sky,
and we see it rising up above but it never tells us why.
How do we grasp a rainbow? To what does it point the way?
A potent portent of glittering good? Or fell, ill-favoured, fey?

So look at the Rainbow rising and see your dearest dream
but be careful what the colours say
they are not quite
... what
...they
...seem.