now there are echoes now hear silence fall
along with sunset all across the hill
for one short moment shadows on the wall
seem like the symbols of gigantic will
writing in darkest inks the coming night
not as despair but as remaking right
there is so much to do so much to say
our choices not so clear at end of day
but this is duty we are bound to cope
with all the tasks and burdens on our way
for we have nothing if we have not hope

we're told the journey's never for the small
and we don't doubt it there's a monstrous bill
that must be paid and horrors will befall
those who can't argue with sufficient skill
against their masters those with honest sight
have some good chance of seeing the new light
while those whose strategy is to delay
may find there are some other costs to pay
and twists and turns on the trip up the *****
but no great monsters that we'll need to slay
for we have nothing if we have not hope

on crest of mountain there's a merry hall
and those who get there do not come to ill
yet there's no triumph that would be so small
a payment for the effort and goodwill
that we put in nor are we folk of might
to carouse and rejoice on the warm height
just actors in one scene of a long play
torn between tragedy and cabaret
happy enough to have some towels and soap
to clean up at the end of a long day
for we have nothing if we have not hope

prince you may think that we have gone astray
stepped out of line and lost all our cachet
but there's a lot of play left to our rope
we will be watching for the sun's first ray
for we have nothing if we have not hope

no echo here but silence tightly wound
upon the spindle of the rising year
has its effect on this our unburnt ground
where moths and spider in their turn appear
in pallid sheen with shadows most austere
our voices falter we do not belong
in place or time when memories are strong

ears are alert for the first human sound
for that one thing that we might hold most dear
explaining why the quiet is so profound
and why each heart must feel the touch of fear
before new day but nothing will come clear
the birds are sleeping this night will last long
cold hours must pass before we hear their song

there's no one present to teach or expound
those complex riddles about which we care
such folk of comfort are never around
when there's a nasty chill upon the air
or complications in the great affair
they simply vanish still if we prolong
our patient waiting dawn will strike the gong

some proper answer remains to be found
the process seeming almost cavalier
it being grasped and purposed on rebound
seeming to be the waste of a career
but those who cannot feel have yet to hear
the truth of where they are and we belong
in proper place to right all that went wrong

the journey we've begun has no right end
or so we think since all our hopes are wild
for there are many motives we'll defend
though not all of our charges are defiled
by hatreds of the sort that you reviled
when speaking in plain justice of the fact
that none of us come through the world intact

each of the winners learns just how to bend
the moment that she stops being a child
while he who's wise knows best just to pretend
a temperament that's always calm and mild
just so the watching eye is safe beguiled
none of these matters is at all abstract
keep this in mind and you won't be attacked

not one of us can think now to depend
on those who might be honourably styled
our champions we can't call on one friend
whose name is not in the red record filed
to live full grown and not die as a child
that's all the purpose we will not be wracked
but others must be seen to live and act

what memory paints is never truly told
yet what we find are more than ghosts of care
since every sunset turned the green trees gold

we do our best to praise and not to scold
to bring about a time that is more fair
what memory paints is never truly told

there was less good in crazy days of old
when crudity and harshness were laid bare
since every sunset turned the green trees gold

we thought less then of hearts cruel and cold
ruling a world in fetters of despair
what memory paints is never truly told

but now the tale is starting to unfold
the outline's wholly visible out there
since every sunset turned the  green trees gold

there's no more talk of how much has been sold
nor or the price to put upon the air
what memory paints is never truly told
since every sunset turned the green trees gold

when the past does not fade and disappear
we're forced to confront it to face the pain
of solid memory to feel all again
within each mind something in the dull air
weighs down upon us with the weight of care
while every face reflects the groaning strain
and total terror that we can see plain
when nothing's left to mankind but raw fear
the once safe garden now becomes a cage
by our own efforts  for we are so dense
we cannot see the function of a wall
is to hold in not just to keep out rage
that justice functions better as defence
and isolation leads to the last fall

life is best measured by the hopes we burn
through those dead yesterdays none could forget
times when the fattest were the most sharp set
which ended we wished would never return
still this is what each of us pays to learn
from that hard teacher whom we name regret
the many ways that life is overset
and those lost gifts for which we will long yearn
so let the drum beat none of us will leave
without a turn upon the judgment seat
so we gain wisdom from the hard result
although our purpose was not to deceive
we're forced unto it by the long defeat
which strips us of all reasons to exult

the thing's the same once you've told the story
putting the planet into normal mode
you've won power but never truly glory

you know it all is just transitory
each of us goes a short way on the road
the thing's the same once you've told the story

whether the ending's peaceful or gory
each must arrive at the one sole abode
you've won power but never truly glory

of no import whether whig or tory
for you the process is in no way slowed
the thing's the same once you've told the story

only message here's memento mori
the human network down to one last node
you've won power but never truly glory

answer now in words that are not hoary
explaining how you cracked the final code
the things the same once you've told the story
you've won power but never truly glory

no echo now but in the dull grey light
see passing birds that pause and watch us feed
our satiated faces lacking need
or understanding in their urgent flight
of what exactly is the human plight
or when our hunger turns into stark greed
the passerine just seeks an errant seed
and a safe place where it can spend the night
the human does not show the passing bird
this truth of life that everything's the same
since all of us make up a single cast
we're subject each of us to one hard word
as players in the sole eternal game
each doomed to pass in time into the past

golden and warm in the december sun
this fading year will pass and be no more
we pause and take account of all that's done
since normal duty includes keeping score
what we must do is often clear and plain
to be repeated and done once again
our task unfinished this mild winter day
is not the simple message we convey
but something awesome born of nature's grace
seen not on mountain nor in ocean spray
the true redemption of the human race

we think we can escape that we can run
some massive distance from the starting door
and then be free but there's no means to shun
the things we are they're with us to the core
clear in the light and won't wash off in rain
that is the fact of our eternal stain
nor is there any word that we might say
to grant us ease nor even to delay
the fact of judgment the truth we must face
is not one we avoid in any way
the true redemption of the human race

the journey starts with us thinking it fun
but none believe that on the final shore
nor think of it in terms of lost and won
of those we love and those we now abhor
we speak of rivers that have found the main
of means by which we might a truth sustain
and understandings of the honest way
including moments that will never stay
but all that comes is part of the whole case
and from that knowledge no true soul will stray
the true redemption of the human race

prince none will wish our poor hopes to betray
and there's no unjust word that you could say
we have direction and we know our place
participants in nature's grand ballet
the true redemption of the human race

those who have vanished those gone up the spout
the scarperers last season's best reaping
were our last bulwark against fear or doubt

so total silence follows on the shout
clamping down ******* laughter and weeping
those who have vanished those gone up the spout

in teaching us just what to do without
and what exactly is worth safe-keeping
were our last bulwark against fear or doubt

but since they're gone we lack all redoubt
no place to which we can hurry creeping
those who have vanished those gone up the spout

simply precede us on the journey out
message and method both so sweeping
were our last bulwark against fear or doubt

now in the midst of this inhuman drought
we fade into the darkness while sleeping
those who have vanished those gone up the spout
were our last bulwark against fear or doubt

despair embodied in dark winter rain
through fitful sleep in absence of all dream
to wake pursuing the first pallid gleam
within a world marked by the human stain
there's not one thing that's simple clear or plain
nothing that honest living might redeem
from what we suffer at the last extreme
paid for in horror and in stabbing pain
there's no deliverance from what we are
nor is it chosen freely in the sun
in a light-hearted moment with a smile
by each of us no favourable star
can serve to light our steps on homeward run
nor gleam and brighten on the final mile

we strain to hear the music of new light
within each heart to tell the truth of strain
as we rebuild the castle once again
on land of hope with chances maybe  slight
indifferent between horror and delight
in a swift race to beat the winter rain
and certain that the walls won't keep out pain
but may succeed at shelter from the night
our hope is simple out there in the cold
no one survives so if we can defend
against the dark some little may endure
to do all this we must stay sharp and bold
from the harsh start right to the ****** end
for the one golden gift we can secure

none left behind except the final few
who dragging feet had given in to fear
and felt the cold now in the still dark air
there was no doubt but that each of them knew
no help would come not even what was due
since out beyond stood no one who would care
about such folk and none with heart to spare
for such as perish in cold morning dew
now liberation is the glory word
for when the yoke is taken off our backs
but that is not what happened on that night
the actual story’s complex and absurd
involving battles skirmishes and tax
with weeping loss of kindred truth and right

outside the winter storm is pelting down
with ancient power recalling us to true
vision of our places so then we rue
both the larger anger and the lesser frown
each gout of pressure under which we drown
unheeded here withheld from public view
still grasping for some force that would renew
each broken heart and smile at each sad clown
tonight we’re promised snow that will not stick
to the warm ground and ice that will not chill
for any length of time the naked skin
yet winter ‘s taking only the first lick
at these soft hides there’s still much room for ill
since we are in a race the clock must win

sleep  hides in dimmest corners of the night

refusing to reach out and hold us dear

for far too long our fears and pains seem bright



like scars of whiteness injuring the sight

bringing so many distant horrors near

sleep hides in dimmest corners of the night



while on each eye some terror will alight

so waking mind can slowly shred and tear

for far too long our fears and pains seem bright



thought after thought revolves upon harsh blight

and inner rack we’re thorough-cooked by fear

sleeps hides in dimmest corners of the night



options seem few and hope reduced to slight

expecting that the dawn might bring cool air

for far too long our fears and pains seem bright



yet there are answers left to turn times right

repairing rest while giving breath to spare

sleep hides in dimmest corners of the night

for far too long our fears and pains seem bright

where fallen angles now define true space
in steady motion of my dull dead blood
the quantity of which threatens to flood

beyond proper confine without such grace
as is expected in these times of mud
where fallen angles now define true space

our acts come under limits we can trace
out of the silence through each heavy thud
of closing vision as hope turns to dud
where fallen angles now define true space

in places known lacking all restriction
we lift our heads and arms extend their reach
whilst all the silent learn to practice speech
as sterling critics take honour from fiction
with truth resulting from the hard conviction
that since no one will give what we beseech
making reality out of all they teach
we must become our own true benediction
this is a world where silence means dissent
from standard syllogisms of bright command
yet we are bound to  stay within the mesh
of human ******* of what is meant
by these creations of the head and hand
that come together in the mortal flesh

in mild november every tree seems red
these maples blazing with unhidden fires
in briefest glory as the day expires
while winter is to come with heavy tread
but not just yet and while clouds overhead
cluster like doom the birds sit on the wires
and do not worry the winds may be liars
while changing seasons don't occasion dread
meanwhile we wonder at the changing scene
at who will be our neighbours and how plain
the day shall be with no leaves on the lawn
but nothing matters while the grass is green
and we have shelter from the chilling rain
with guarantee of sleep until the dawn

the world outside will not let one alone
not for one second to breathe open air
just heed the rastaman on rastaphone


speaking his truth in simple honest tone
with words of import durable and fair
the world outside will not let one alone


but like a dog protecting its last bone
will growl and dart at those who only dare
just heed the rastaman on rastaphone


with such a message that we have to own
ourselves bemused and forced indeed to care
the world outside will not let one alone


not even emperor asleep on throne
who would methought have time enough to spare
just heed the rastaman on rastaphone


give up the past and head beyond the known
into the heart of humans everywhere
the world outside will not let one alone
just heed the rastaman on rastaphone

how fresh the world was complex and still strange
as we crossed shark-filled seas with little thought
of what bright magics in the clouds were caught
or what the cities past the mountain range
would have for us instead we sought the grange
the country quiet where oldest rules were taught
in plainest movement from old is to ought
from then to now where all we did was change
into clear selves who know the middle way
by just refinement of that youthful choice
made all rejoicing under bluest sky
for we who learn the paths and tracks of day
know it's no simple thing to have a voice
and far more difficult to keep an eye

you learn the shadows do not hide all lies
nor is the truth what's gleaming in the sun
for far too frequently the tale's not done
when light has faded from all noonday skies
or wisdom woken in the youngest eyes
no not at all yet for each honour won
by those whose struggle is the daily run
through the hot lands there are no final lies
instead we face a constant horrid stream
of angry platitudes regarding fate
and what it means when we give up the fight
for who we are and what we dare to dream
in these dread times there can be no debate
since there's one chance to leap into the light

at night the sounds of aircraft blend with rain
lulling to sleep and then we're in the place
where trips begin moving at steady pace
towards the boarding steps and then again
above the clouds where everything's seen plain
in rapid motion back to present grace
with clarity we know can't be the case
facing a truth that's all shot through with pain
the earth still turns and darkness has to lift
at daily sunreturn we find each choice
to be like putting on a shoe or glove
a simple matter of the human gift
for stating facts in ordinary voice
once it is understood the word is love

so now we listen for the coming rain
deceived by breezes knowing the moist air
is filled with promise and that it must bear
more than mere fruitfulness that much is plain
as we await the changes and explain
to eager watchers just how much our care
has been to guard lest each of them despair
and hold inside the messages of pain
this is the boundary beyond which none
but foolish folk will venture without charts
yet we have come here eager to press on
being certain now that this game has been won
by each of us through mastery of arts
that gave us certainty and have not gone

your choices narrow since the gate's not wide
but yet is ample once you choose your way
all you must do is set apart your pride

not just in honour but in the best allied
arts you have studied since your first calm day
your choices narrow since the gate's not wide

enough for coaches in which large folk ride
but humbler folk might still that path essay
all you must do is set apart your pride

from hope and anguish both yet never hide
your expectation of what we might say
your choices narrow since the gate's not wide

yet little matters since we will not collide
with foolish beings who will not obey
all you must do is set apart your pride

and just be ready to confront the tide
that still treats us as objects of its play
your choices narrow since the gate's not wide
all you must do is set apart your pride

at longest last we reach the furthest edge

where wisdom cannot tell us how to choose

between young follows and a few old clues

close to the end there on the final ledge

above deep seas which no one dares to dredge

is where we learn the game's to win or lose

in one short moment when we clip the fuse

open our eyes and honour our true pledge

worlds shape each heart but hearts must form the world

for each of us in turn as we repair

to our last castles on the final hill

dreaming in hope of sleeping dragons curled

in some deep cavern far from the bright air

awaiting the command of our deep will

we do not reach the edge and simply wait
for others to catch up and find us there
but plough on further deep in the affair
where there's a margin between will and fate
nothing's disclosed nor open to debate
since we are subject to recoil from care
or be abused and chided anywhere
we utter speech all choices have to grate
there is no reason that we must return
like beaten dogs in summer to this place
yet still you find us trying not to run
from any anger facing the harsh burn
of baying voices shouting out disgrace
at all of those who brave the brassy sun

the moon is dancing in the  village square
with happy girls whose eyes reflect the stars
while older folk bite down on their cigars
and watch the smoke rise through the calm night air
this is the time of change the turning year
moving fast downward but no harsh thing mars
the splendid moment and there are no bars
to joy this night the morning's time for fear
we do not know what sorrows still to come
will burn themselves into each youthful heart
no terrors lurk but love's rewards are won
though elder smiles conceal the truths of glum
experience they let the young ones dart
into dark corners soon enough comes sun

leaves start to fall they're mango-red and dry
but seem like scattered tears in the grey dawn
when i have got the paper from the lawn
and sought the new day's fortune in the sky
with hope the auguries will not now lie
while those who sleep behind curtains still drawn
miss happy sight of trotting deer and fawn
for all the world like neighbours passing by
now this is change and magic in its way
which multiplied becomes the world's own form
and contains us such moments we retain
in deepest memory against the day
of dearth and sorrow in the heart of storm
when we are lashed by coldest wind and rain

so here right now at anchor on dry land
by no storm tossed with shelter from the gale
is no good time to falter nor turn stale
but find some urgent task for working hand
increase the space of mind at my command
the length of time before my thoughts must fail
have hope of better judgment from the scale
and make a thorough honest humane stand
where bound from here by fate or lowly chance
the end's the same but shares of joy and pain
will not be even between now and night
there's one great task to rejoice in the dance
get out and fully measure sun and rain
keep back the dark and glory in the light

our duty is to rectify the names
and ranks of those who serve and guide the state
take out the waste and cast in in the flames

the one who praises is the one who blames
so both should suffer an immediate fate
our duty is to rectify the names

remove the wrong assess all proper claims
while honouring those who patiently wait
take out the waste and cast it in the flames

not for us gaudy masks of knights and dames
we learnt our service how to clean each plate
our duty is to rectify the names

to take account of glories and of shames
of who was early and who coming late
take out the waste and cast it in the flames

we have no time for silly childish games
nor patience for discussion and debate
our duty is to rectify the names
take out the waste and cast it in the flames

a simple honest vision birds in flight
across the narrow valley in dim air
while very slowly we prepare for night

in one swift moment we have to indite
magical incantations of despair
a simple honest vision birds in flight

will come upon us in the final light
to draw from every eye a single tear
while very slowly we prepare for night

in manner of old custom law and rite
withstanding all injustice pain and fear
a simple honest vision birds in flight

will transport each of us to some new height
beyond the weight of suffering or care
while very slowly we prepare for night

with understanding of both truth and right
to match the music that will make all clear
a simple honest vision birds in flight
while very slowly we prepare for night

dry grass thin stubble in late summer's heat
reflaring here and there to darker green
in mottled shade there's no one to be seen
a heavy silence rules upon the street
we crave completion seek the upward beat
of ravens' wings demand the vision keen
of tropic vultures we release our spleen
on hapless ears but then we must retreat
in each cool cave the music cannot fail
to guard against the horror of bright day
while keeping hearts in balance from the strain
of sensing that there's more to the true tale
as yet unheralded in what you say
but for the moment we must count the gain

we make the nation out of heart and mind
but give allegiance only when we're paid
which means this kingdom's truly of the blind

for all that we have been to truth inclined
its consequences make us all afraid
we make the nation out of heart and mind

yet cannot doubt that we’ve still been consigned
to the old trap we're in the same old trade
which means this kingdom's truly of the blind

and thus we know already what we'll find
once we unravel all the plots we'd laid
we make the nation out of heart and mind

expecting history will be more kind
granting some measure of good ease and aid
which means this kingdom's truly of the blind

since no such hope has ever been designed
instead we'll have to do with what we've made
we make the nation out of heart and mind
which means this kingdom's truly  of the blind

free folk who turn their backs on the sweet cane
for bitter striving on the mountainside
don't count hard labour now as any pain

since now there is good reason to hold strain
while men on horseback dare not shout nor chide
free folk who turn their backs on the sweet cane

whose feet are moving uphill from the plain
towards the places where they used to hide
don't count hard labour now as any pain

when it's all yours when none of it's in vain
as hopes are reached and none of them denied
free folk who turn their backs on the sweet cane

have seas to cross and great dreams to attain
their inner voices have made them decide
don't count hard labour now as any pain

they will not fall back to ******* again
but face the world with proper joy and pride
free folk who turn their backs on the sweet cane
don't count hard labour now as any pain

so now all clocks are showing the time's passed
for wearing chains and keeping dark heads bowed
since august morning has come round at last

although the sons of hate may stand aghast
we know our parents wept but were not cowed
so now all clocks are showing the time's passed

and we will leave till now we had held fast
but we can show the world that we are proud
since august morning has come round at last

so long a silence then the thunderblast
of our rejoicing we were good and loud
so now the clocks are showing the time's passed

for humble patient service we will cast
away all ******* tear apart the shroud
since august morning has come round at last

with our free hands we sanctify the past
as for the future we face it unbowed
so now all clocks are showing the time's passed
since august morning has come round at last

truth comes in the gaze of eye and ear
and is released in ways that we find best
in simple language nothing can be expressed
but in a form and fashion that is dear
to ordinary hearts now we adhere
in principle and practice to the test
of frailty in all that is confessed
by guardians who will not succumb to fear
duty requires action as well as speech
from those told off to watch the border wall
for signs of trouble coming with the spring
but courage makes us all extend our reach
makes us imagine ourselves ten feet tall
and gives our hearts and voices cause to sing

the music moves across the cold grey sea
through empty space and then the warm applause
erupts into my heart the proper cause
is truth and order in all that we see
set out before us the true honest plea
of decent life that grows without a  pause
through urgent summer with its verdant laws
written in thunder music sets us free
now let our eyes not focus on the cloud
but seek the sunlight and the surging tide
never complain that enemies are proud
nor that there are key matters to decide
for now's the moment to use your own voice
unleash your proper laughter and rejoice

the outlines of this message are so clear
to those who wait to hear it at the door
of heavy summer there is so much more
that we will need coming across the air
the loudest want us all to be aware
of sacrifice and that since they abhor
all urgent pain they will remove the sore
by drastic means while stating they are fair
what was unknown turns out to be just brief
exploding anguish on the tainted scene
a sign perhaps of animating spark
or else the voice of one more human's grief
at what has turned into a might-have-been
and gone away like all else into dark

we watch the summer swallows swoop and soar
beneath the heavy  clouds while  children sleep
oblivious to the way  the long hours creep


like mice through the long grass so we abhor
the many pressures that have made us weep
we watch the summer swallows swoop and soar


so near our heads it must affect the score
and strike our hearts  the fountain's source is deep
in native rock meanwhile like passive sheep
we watch the summer swallows swoop and soar

no matter that the cap's been set askew

there is no better story we could tell

about the way our honest vision grew

out of cold pain to fill the broken shell

healing the ill that you could not dispel

for all your efforts since there was no way

to break the walls or give the soul full play

we reach the bounds and have no better terms

than these old worn words no more than cliché

you might as well give up and feed the worms



we watch as grey has come to rule the blue

there's nothing here against which to rebel

just the old order just the normal due

course of the world which we cannot compel

to alter for our will there is no spell

that folk of magic could use to allay

these ordinary fears which still betray

just what we are old time alone confirms

that it can do its will and have its say

you might as well give up and feed the worms



after the rain we hope to see the new

growth that will rise the blossoms that will swell

once more in the bright garden to show true

that all things in the end shall come out well

so that on painful matters we won't dwell

and not look at the fossils under clay

the ancient dead in their solid array

since he who looks is also he who squirms

at thought of what lies just beyond decay

you might as well give up and feed the worms



prince your approach is all the gift we pray

knowing how well we count on what you say

beneath your wisdom are the least of germs

unable to resist the force of day

you might as well give up and feed the worms

a sort of secret in this open yard
what is best hidden cannot be said plain
but may be whispered when the window's barred
so many stories of that concealed stain
of all the ones who went against the grain
and let the rope and leather simply fall
the beast escape from the well-guarded stall
matters like these are not beyond surmise
words might be spoken at noon in the hall
the winner is not he who gains the prize

you do not see the sign upon the card
that might be said to mark the loss or gain
of those who need to earn your good regard
the ones who speak know you will not remain
once all the symbols cease to be arcane
for what is sugar may one day be gall
that which now pleases must swiftly appall
if you aren't told that we should now advise
you must not let these foolish ways enthral
the winner is not he who gains the prize

an honest purpose may be easy marred
by those who want to tighten up the chain
and laugh and you the silly avant-garde
who seek the pleasure and forget the pain
that comes on later you cannot abstain
from taking part in the far larger brawl
that is expected when you hear the call
of the strange forces that reshape the skies
and come upon us like a sudden squall
the winner is not he who gains the prize

prince we are here for quite the longest haul
and ready for the struggle great or small
we may seem paltry to your noble eyes
but we will make it though we have to crawl
the winner is not he who claims the prize

day follows day in precise normal mode

all of our arrows remain in quiver

nothing it seems can act as force or goad

the journey's not made in ancient flivver

all is dependent on silent giver

to take us past what might have never been

the gallows raised upon the village green

such matters take a single simple course

and end in places that are now unseen

the sage must value man and never horse



this is the start of a long tiring road

ending at mouth of a large slow river

a standard gift or horrid curse bestowed

as blessing or as truly painful shiver

not something that we could deliver

this matters we find not a single bean

so much we say we cannot ever mean

the word in each mouth turns so swiftly coarse

the voyage never becomes transmarine

the sage must value man and never horse



our hope is never wholly safely stowed

dependent as it is on heart and liver

a sort of signal in a secret code

of which we can know only a sliver

enough at least to tell the forgiver

how to begin to set the final scene

and to command as if a king or queen

speaking in honour and without remorse

a gathering that we could all convene

the sage must value man and never horse



prince we escape and know that we are clean

of human wisdom all that we could glean

to the full limits of our petty force

do not attempt to fight or intervene

the sage must value man and never horse

hough aiming forward we are losing ground

hearts may be filled with hope but our hard fate

is to be weighed and valued pound by pound

as the remainders of a great estate

the counters' duty it is to collate

what goes to storage and what to the worm

what will be buried to build up the berm

and what parts of the fortune they might keep

those who are watching are the very firm

our place is taken and we have to sleep



so much of what is said is to confound

the ones whose task it is to count and rate

the complete measure within proper bound

they aren't allowed to lie nor to inflate

the tiny parcels into something great

but must agree the winner is the germ

that strikes the mighty hard as they might squirm

and into every corner seems to creep

it's certain victory we can't affirm

our place is taken and we have to sleep



we wanted to astonish and astound

win the reward of gold and silver plate

have banknotes piled up in a giant mound

cart off bright jewels in a well-made crate

these are not the conditions we instate

we find ourselves most rotten and infirm

unable now to generate a therm

nor over lowest bar ever to leap

our weakness any fool now could confirm

our place is taken and we have to sleep



prince you may rule us for a certain term

since none of us has power to reaffirm

just what we were nor what we had to keep

within our power nor underneath each derm

our place is taken and we have to sleep

so much is wanted but what we must ask

is for the measure that cannot be told

by ordinary creatures at their task

of making worlds to fit the human mould

beyond the which we could not be consoled

but asked for pity and received no share

of what was paid except this empty air

so turning we discerned no further bar

to our escaping save a simple stair

the crescent mirror and the morning star



you give a good account behind your mask

of where the trail was good and where just cold

no warmth remains except within the flask

nor any honour that's not paid with gold

right on the table where the hearts are sold

while every victim hears the case is fair

and yet the axe does not strike unaware

there's no part of the process that's bizarre

while far above our unbowed heads there stare

the crescent mirror and the morning star



in balmier times we might hope to bask

in the approval of the good and bold

enjoy the plaudits while we broach the cask

and wonder why a single voice would scold

instead the angry lessons are unrolled

as every back is loaded down with care

nor is there chance of freedom anywhere

that foolish interlopers hope to mar

beyond the chances of the normal player

the crescent mirror and the morning star



prince in the end you won't respond to prayer

as no petition has the sort of flair

to touch the souls of palace and bazaar

yet you must go to where the boldest dare

the crescent mirror and the morning star

the key is getting human feeling right
not only understanding of the fact
and  answer blending suavity and tact


but proper sensing of the victim's plight
with sentiments concrete and not abstract
the key is getting human feeling right


then sitting with the injured through the night
binding their wounds when they had been attacked
ensuring they had the one thing they lacked
the key is getting human feeling right

there is no wonder where there is no hope
we learn this truth before we learn to speak
defining magic as just one more trope

among the ones with which we have to cope
tools of the just and weapons of the meek
there is no wonder where there is no hope

so we declare but yet the merest dope
believes his circumstances are unique
defining magic as just one more trope

that must be learnt before he climbs the *****
towards the greatest highest noble peak
there is no wonder where there is no hope

those are the words and they are no soft soap
serving to guide us unto what we seek
defining magic as just one more trope

of our old language so that gives us scope
for honest understanding and critique
there is no wonder where there is no hope
defining magic as just one more trope

each journey's not a problem for the road
but recollection tricks us into tears
each sudden image coming unawares
and  then revealing there's a complex code
that we'd forgotten then time overflowed
into each heart and took away our fears
washed out the sad crustation of the years
displaying all the good that was bestowed
in this refraction what we see is clear
to older heads unbowed by weight of age
whose eyes preserve a proper youthful sight
with memory of that softer mountain air
of solemn words declared on rustic stage
before a passage into tropic light

we looked on open water for a week
a warm green sea true eater of the sun
great arm of ocean not river or creek

this was our respite from a world made bleak
by constant duty service on the run
we looked on open water for a week

in hope of healing certain the unique
sense of the name would give us what we'd won
great arm of ocean not river or creek

immensity of peace that we could seek
as fullest respite when each day was done
we looked on open water for a week

with smiling faces that forbade critique
of any statement that would overrun
great arm of ocean not river or creek

where we end moving easily and sleek
towards the sunset knowing it was fun
we looked on open water for a week
great arm of ocean not river or creek

in hidden corner there's a place for sleep
you know it well and will come out to play
in your good time meanwhile you'll let me keep
my larger vigils on this cloudy day
seeking the wisdoms of a time of pain
with half an eye cocked for the coming rain
and senses focused on approaching night
(we know it's coming though the day is bright)
hands put together purpose that is kind
while every heart is poised for instant flight
into the bright dominion of the mind

the lives of people never seem so deep
as feline hungers in their simple way
you are the wanderers and we the sheep
our normal tasks will seem to your delay
from urgent hunger and there is no gain
from what we're doing that seems to you plain
it does not come within your line of sight
provides you nothing of your household right
the sort of thing that is best left behind
lest it should bring a darkness or a blight
into the bright dominion of the mind

your eye is focused on the things that creep
across the yard that you would wish to slay
we know this and for fortune will not weep
but wonder at the words you'd like to say
if speech were given and you could complain
at being bound in by such a golden chain
as if we punished your for our delight
and thought your chiding visions could indict
our cruelty in keeping you confined
but see you move with happy summer light
into the bright dominion of the mind

prince you might think this subject impolite
and such debate is not the best to cite
yet we must take the pathways that we find
from your dark rule of chaos and old night
into the bright dominion of the mind

these storms have turned the world all green
and sunlight limns the leaves in gold
no time today to chide or scold

we look and smile the birds all preen
while eager hunters become bold
these storms have turned the world all green

for beauty we have set the scene
a story known and often told
that hearts are broken and consoled
these storms have turned the world all green