The Buzzard swoops without a sound ,
not with love or grace ,
he can be found ,
but moves in for the **** ,
like us he  bares not guilt .

So like us who have no shame ,
must make haste unto thy grave .

For we like the Buzzards mouse ,
left in his nest for food ,
the buzzard makes play ,
then sinks it’s teeth into flesh then bone .
For If we don’t hold to account of our Godless ways ,
then the holy one will bring an end. to our thoughtless days .

Our souls are left to march one by one to the tune of Angels cries ,
O morbid sound ,
that shall arise ,
that crash without end against a sandy shaw never to be seen again ..
For
in new glorious bodies are we
then left to burn .
tTo roast in hell ,
like Serloin steaks ,
then hung out to dry on tender hooks all ,
like Butchers bait .

So if there is a lesson to learn ,
take notes of what the preacher says ,
that without Christ we are all condemned .
It’s only by grace that we canst make amends ,
for time is running out for Gods parade ,
of the immortal man .

I shall wait beside you’re coffin my love ,
ready for you to rise above ,
ready for you to spread you’re wings ,
above the dust and all mortal things .

For you were taken from me my dear ,
for if only sickness could have waited another year ?

Now daisies   ripe upon  the earth arise above and all around .
The bell above you’re head I left for you to ring ,
makes but not a sound !

For the foxes howl yet eary scream above you’re grave ,
is most sereal .

And the rodents that  sharpen their tiny teeth on you’re slab
are drawn by the smell of you’re rotting flesh ,
and  feverishly naw at thy  stone instead  .

Now the rain drops a patter ,
for now it won’t matter ,
one drop after another ,
upon you’re grave .
Can you hear them falling ,?
It can wait until morning,
for  the dust clouds are forming ,
calling for my Daisy above her pritty head .


For if the body snatchers come ,
I shall shoot them down one by one .

And if some fine gentleman should share you’re grave ,
I shall make sure he has washed and shaved .

And if you’re ghost should ever flee ,
hail me down a carriage so I might follow thee .
And if that bell should ever ring ,
let it be not the winds that blow it still ,
upon thy beating breast .

There you lay one charming night ,
were in you’re caverns you seeked no light .
the Fogwroth arose you from you’re rest ,

Arouse in me what can not be said ,
least Fogwroth ties you to you’re bed .

Lest you wail into this night ,
and I set alight a candle bright ,
so that you with a smile upon thy brow,
might gaze with longing upon my tinted glow .

So i can set free you’re ties ,
when morning breaks ,
and Fogwroth dies .

And so ride off shall you and I ,
with the blood of Fogwroth  still not cold ,
at least it was you who had a heart of gold .

So to my chambers rest ,
not that you should think it best ?
To lay waste you’re silk white dress ,
and my breeches ,
you thought best to wait not untill the morning.

One day I found myself walking in a forest ,
above me the blinding rays of the wood ,
all kinds of creatures moving to and frow,
beside me as best they could .
And there in the distance when i had enough grains and fruits,
to eat ,
I heard a joker  playing to a tune I knew so well..
It went ....

A jester with a fallen crown .
A king who one day wept .


An Angel who once led Gods  choir in song ,
who fell in full sight of our Lord ,
who should have burnt in the flame and the sword ,
Instead he spoke in beautiful song .

A Queen who I once loved ,
who now in some rotting cell ,
has been banished by my heart to dwell .
To no food or water must she drink ,
or my love for her should grow ,
with every banquet I lay before her feet .

And who is left in this life of mine ,
that I should idoly pass my time ,
to nibble corn in the noon days sun ?



The joker in my life how could I forget ?
Who  speaks well of a doe  I had loved ,
yet how she failed to light her gas lamp for me ,
so I might take that which she holds so timidly ,

and lead her to my bed .

Who  plays a tune to where I must follow ,
where everything either creeps or hollows ,
somewhere where there are no tomorrow’s ,
where the branches grow thick in sorrow ,
to the darker. end of the wood..
Where the barn owl once swollowed  me whole ,
just because he could.

So as the Forrest all sings to the jokers tune  as the birds of prey are fed ,
on everything that moves in the darkest part of the woods ,
It is said !

How dark the crumbling ruins lie ,
that once grew tall against the skies ,
that told of loves great battle cries against a snarling foe .

For leaves and rusting metals that beat against the bark ,
is all that can be heard .
Driven by a wind that won’t stop a howling ,
and hasn’t for many years .

What was once a bustling town ,
her
inhabitants left a long time ago .

Yet there is a man who still lives here
who refuses. to ever go .
An elderly gent who won’t back down ,
and never gives in to sin .
His bible sits next to his bed ,
he boils a kettle ,
and drinks his coffee neat ,
and prays every single night
for love to enter in “ .

Yet the wind still howls in his house that time forgot .
But not his God he won’t ever give up on him .

Now every day he cycles past what was once a bustling town ,
to the grocer at the railway store ,
who dos’nt know when to quit .
Who  tells him “ there’s a train a waiting on platform 1 ,
I’ve reserved a seat for you ,
fast train to easy town ,
it’s a waiting just for you ‘
But he won’t leave just cycles home with a smile that says not today..

Past where all his friends once stopped to pat him on his back ,
for they all left for the bigger stones ,
at easy town ,
where the people who wear Jackel masks  just want to crack their bones,
and spit them out for tea ,
for their lust and debauchery .
But he won’t be leaving to catch that train ,
not today ,
at least not today .

Amy was flying high ,
she met her man in June ,
and fell in love ,
to a squadron leader ,
their nights were full of laughter ,
and drinking for ever after .
and she was so in love with him .
and him with her life was so enchanting.

A house with a garden together .
they planned to settle down ,
when the war was over a semi somewhere in some surburban  town .
With a garden and gate ,
when he says “ I won’t be home late ‘ .
where birds will sing some rag time tune ,
when we made love beneath a cherry tree one sunday afternoon.

So one night there was no call ,
not a word from him did she hear .
She reved her engine to see if she could see her lover was near ?

Looking down the airfield Amy noticed his spitfire wasn’t there ,
she feared the worst as she landed,
and ran to a phone booth and made her call there .
The call was cut short
Amy sunk to her knees ,
the phone dangled above her auburn hair .


Two lovers flying high on their honeymoon,
Flying past the white cliffs of Dover ,
on a sunny afternoon
Two spitfires tailgating together heading for the moon .

Two Angels. rode with arms outstretched ,
with a Lilly in their hands ,
an iron horse which nostels flare .
Above that white horse of Nobel land .
A iron maiden with a banner in her hand ,
dressed in white and steel ,
and grace ,
Marched to Orléans .

Yet fall she did outside the gates that would not let her in ,
taken by the Burgundian guard for. her inquisitioning .


Oh Let me take that Lilly from you though it be not yet spring ,
and dip it in balm ,
so as it wipe thy brow Though it might not sting .
Yet angels surround you on all sides ,
as they tied you to a tree .
though pillars of smoke and flame scorch thy breast ,
remember you are not alone ,
for Christ is now you’re Victory !


The cross of wood you see the last thing before your spirit leaves ,
to Adams breast  on silver clouds in hand the flure  de lis ,
and Lilly’s spread from angels hands  next to fountains pure as spring .

Oh you’re  heart still lies abeating  amugst  the ashes lay ,
as pure as snow though they tried to stump it with their cloven hoofs , they couldn’t stop it beating try as they may .

So Frances lands true and fair are saved for evermore ,
the banner of the fleur de lis lifted high against the shore ,
the white of her armour ,
the red of her soldiers true and brave ,
and the blue skies that without love could never ever be saved .