our choices leave us little room to spare
as day and night in sequence go by fast
no decent case of dignity to wear

and vision that suggests more cause to fear
in the cold present than in the dim past
our choices leave us little room to spare

for reprehension at the sullen year
that it has been the truth is all miscast
no decent case of dignity to wear

we're  all frustrated all thrown in despair
all fearful we will hear the final blast
our choices leave us little room to spare

for any of the goods that we should bear
since our great goal will never be surpassed
no decent case of dignity to wear

when we confront the enemy or dare
the final gate that victory's the last
our choices leave us little room to spare
no decent case of dignity to wear

there is some magic in the changing sound
of music in the modulated touch
over the distance we have gained so much
crossing great waters at a single bound
while all the pains of the old hurt were drowned
and honour met  just one step past the clutch
of oldest terrors we learn truth is such
a mighty gift yet one we may expound
our hope for progress turns right back to shame
when out of darkness we find naught but force
to hold us back and keep us from our right
when what is needed is but one bright flame
to serve as guide to set us back on course
reminding hearts that not all is in night

where there's no echo from the outer range
of what was said before we turned for home
about the meanings both of choice and change
and what it means when we begin to roam
beyond the bounds of our accepted world
to those domains now hidden in the dark
where our free banners may at last unfurled
be flown above our heads as the great mark
of where we stand and what we mean to hold
upon the heights the point of what we do
when we have moved from warmth into the cold
and made our old place into something new
the truth of this is said without alarm
but your reply is what must give it charm

no matter what there's no reason to shout
with joy or anger since the rules are neat
and clear not heavy in this summer heat
we have no reason now for fear or doubt
just worry at the thought of coming drought
and utter silence in the noontime street
while on the air so many voices bleat
but none can tell us what it is about
upon the ground a shadow and a sign
of what the times have shown and what they mean
to those who read the signals straight and plain
yet we are waiting since the shades align
to form a boundary just past the seen
where those inside may sigh for coming rain

there is no magic that can outpace wit
nor any spell to outdo normal pluck
still in the end we all are in the ****

you might expect things would ease up a bit
but what you find is that your feet are stuck
there is no magic that can outpace wit

but not a single line of yours will hit
just where you want so you are out of luck
still in the end we all are in the ****

not one of us is ever quite legit
as all our best hopes end up in the muck
there is no magic that can outpace wit

we get a win our thoughts begin to flit
towards good chance if things don't go amuck
still in the end we all are in the ****

no matter what we do despite our grit
the laws of nature just don't give a ****
there is no magic that can outpace wit
still in the end we all are in the ****

no echo here just quiet and the bright
lamp of midday that flattens all below
with gentle touch that equals massive blow
and makes us all long for the cool of night
there's not a bird  today seeking the height
the strongest beast is hiding from the glow
this day at least we wish to see the snow
soften the edges of this harshest sight
mind cannot waken to the meanest task
nor is there thought of music for the charge
when distance adds so much to every fear
it magnifies the words that each must ask
making the burdens that were small so large
but yet each basket when we look holds air

brash thunder in the dark is low and deep
it bids us rest and dream of milky light
of other places where with fresher sight
the follies of the seasons slower creep
may well be judged by those who always keep
a weather eye for things to come out right
as safe from mortal horror that's the plight
of one who knows just what hides down in sleep
there's better clarity in the grey dawn
a different heat another sort of life
to be confronted choices to be met
one fearful terrapin seen on the lawn
draws in its head for fear of hurt or strife
but then goes on with no thought or regret