what meanings truth and justice had
we've understood and will not pass
that bill was paid at stalingrad

(not the first time) and we are glad
to see reflected in the glass
what meanings truth and justice had

in eyes that are forever sad
seeing the bones beneath the grass
that bill was paid at stalingrad

for generations good and bad
by that immense levée-en-masse
(what meanings truth and justice had)

so demos spoke and thus forbade
the foolish claims of herrenrass
that bill was paid at stalingrad

so many folk might think us mad
to speak of mankind as one class
what meanings truth and justice had
that bill was paid at stalingrad

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

the true republic lies beneath the sea
a single bound will take you straightway there
it's our first homeland where we were born free

look where the master will not let you see
far past the fictive kingdoms of the air
the true republic lies beneath the sea

no effort's needed for each one to flee
just leave right now and be at ease from care
it's our first homeland where we were born free

where we learnt justice at our mother's knee
return' so easy we just have to dare
the true republic lies beneath the sea

not far at all we note the mango tree
the purple bloom the old man on his chair
it's our first homeland where we were born free

the place of order where we long to be
and it is simple to end the affair
the true republic lies beneath the sea
it's our first homeland where we were born free

for a short while we sit and watch the sea
the ships that pass the people on the shore
and then turn back to what we were before

there's understanding here of what must be
a straightforward accounting of the score
for a short while we sit and watch the sea

smile at the world knowing that we agree
on the good things that no one could want more
than such warm moments till the final door
for a short while we sit and watch the sea

no grieving then but seize the darting joys
that pass like summer birds above the lake
enjoy the time and all the things you make

ignore the pain avoid the childish noise
see how the breezes still the reeds do shake
no grieving then but seize the darting joys

before they pass on to new girls and boys
as life requires since every reed must break
eternity's the dream that we mistake
no grieving then but seize the darting joys

partway along the path that all must tread
wrong turning taken in the dusk and muck
no hope to find the proper road ahead

so easy then to say that truth had fled
give up on life along with all my luck
partway along the path that all must tread

while many voices echo no words said
could quite convey how badly one was stuck
no hope to find the proper road ahead

darkness around the human world abed
so easy then the mortal form to shuck
partway along the path that all must tread

where none could scream from simple weight of dread
no light could come from passing car or truck
no hope to find the proper road ahead

the only message was you must fall dead
the world goes on no one will give a ****
partway along the path that all must tread
no hope to find the proper road ahead

we cannot grasp the current situation
our hands are not quite equal to the task
and comrade lenin's at the finland station

all sense has gone from leaders of the nation
while generals have all dived into flask
we cannot grasp the current situation

but know that it's no cause for celebration
as we have reached the bottom of the cask
and comrade lenin's at the finland station

we tried to impose rules of segregation
but found that there were things we could not ask
we cannot grasp the current situation

the masses do not give us admiration
while idle rulers on far beaches bask
and comrade lenin's at the finland station

we find there is no true accommodation
they've seen the monster face behind the mask
we cannot grasp the current situation
and comrade lenin's at the finland station

For stale appearance I don't give a fig
since I won't see my friend for quite some while
but wit and humour always are in style
and I have grown to like this sort of gig.
Put on some hair, the deal is not so big
as you imagine. I do not revile
the belly laugh, nor yet the honest smile
since I am me beneath the longest wig.
In prose or verse the sentiment is true
that we're the grace that we have got to lend
to each occasion where the good may meet
to speak a while and give good peace its due
in wintertime. Still all fine things must end
and happy moments pass with foot too fleet.

what's given forth may come out true
we lose at first just so we learn
the complex tricks and in our turn

teach each young one to pay their due
expend a little and discern
what's given forth may come out true

each change will mean the world made new
by other hands and thus we yearn
to see the old fires once more burn
what's given forth may come out true

cliff-dwelling swallows in the dryer vent
are a connection that we have to face
between free nature and the harsh rat race
at intersection of domestic content
where meaning  action symbol and intent
all come together in a single place
as bird and woman each concede a space
and neither knows just what the other meant
the niche that out of nature has been set
for me to watch as swallows make their home
is given proper purpose by the flight
of urgent swallows leaving as the wet
signals of springtime depart from the dome
of bluing sky and cheer  me by the sight

out of the light some errant hope may creep
to stay harsh fears and keep in stern control
those bitter terrors which reign over sleep
since we are many miles short of our goal
nor can a single one afford the toll
for all our efforts we have come up short
one of our heads might yet adorn a pole
there is no justice in our rulers' court

our sense of history does not go deep
nor yet much further than the old school roll
for we want all our stories on the cheap
and honour is not something we extol
we want the stallion but not the foal
and find it is so easy to distort
the symbols that are written on the scroll
there is no justice in our rulers' court

in coming dark we will react like sheep
whose bleating the kind butcher must console
before he throws each body on the heap
or drinks another beer from his large bowl
the watcher might just find the whole thing droll
or take the scheduled slaughter for good sport
did he not see the shepherd on patrol
there is no justice in our rulers' court
prince you believe your subject has no soul
and can say nothing here of great import
but without him you cannot soon be whole
there is no justice in our rulers' court

we take the signs of spring and call them grand
each knows they'll weep some day to see them pass
immortal symbols set by mortal hand

words tell us little but they have to stand
for all our knowledge of the wind on grass
we take the signs of spring and call them grand

since each bright sigil comes at sun's command
and all together form a joyous mass
immortal symbols set by mortal hand

reflection of the heart sprung from the land
for one short season then they're gone alas
we take the signs of spring and call them grand

inadequate the words so brief and bland
lacking in strength and grace like so much gas
immortal symbols set by mortal hand

need so much more for sentiments they fanned
their colours cannot stay within the glass
we take the signs of spring and call them grand
immortal symbols set by mortal hand

hyacinths and daffs in the flowerbed
those eager plantings of last summer's heat
they are the voices of our dearest dead

we have not asked just what the blossoms said
nor listened long to the black loamy beat
hyacinths and daffs in the flowerbed

have no regret nor signal any dread
their meaning is not evil it is sweet
they are the voices of our dearest dead

returning to us in the garden spread
in sudden colour in the light complete
hyacinths and daffs in the flowerbed

each shocking signal sent right to the head
and heart that with old sorrow is replete
these are the voices of our dearest dead

gone now but leaving us with souls full fed
since life refuses to accept defeat
hyacinths and daffs in the flowerbed
they are the voices of our dearest dead

in february when there should be frost
bright daffodils present in yellow bloom
such firm rejection of the winter gloom

it makes me smile not all the past is lost
and there are things that death will not consume
in february when there should be frost

we look on beauty and don't count the cost
of what it means to have full life resume
but take each step and see beyond the doom
in february when there should be frost

so many orders of which none matter
in this harsh place where all words come to fail
in giddy smoke and stinking horses' stale

it seems that all our urges need to shatter
because we have not found the proper scale
so many orders of which none matter

but many fools who do not cease to flatter
yet will not stoop to help us when we ail
nor build a roof to shelter from the hail
so many orders of which none matter

so many long to have a golden king
for certainties amid the roil and noise
and yet won't listen when the sweet doves sing

in urgent times  there is nothing to bring
that will secure against what most annoys
so many long to have a golden king

as being for now the most important thing
to guarantee the safety of their joys
and yet won't listen when the sweet doves sing

of better hours when they were on the wing
and deadly forces were not kept as toys
so many long to have a golden king

who do not wish their liberty to fling
so cavalierly with such little poise
and yet won't listen when the sweet doves sing

since all the world is trapped inside one ring
and none can tell just what the rest enjoys
so many long to have a golden king
and yet won't listen when the sweet doves sing

have caught the missing moment of each day
taken it prisoner and won't release
a single second of our hope's increase
out of plain fear that golden light could stray
from warming hands that yet know how to play
the human game without harm or caprice
into cold air that would soon end all peace
sending the waiting watchers on their way
have known hard losses and much harder wins
on courses and on surfaces that yield
their gifts to those who have little to tell
though coldest nights save the long count of sins
serving as sustenance across the field
while each survivor wishes they could yell

at istanbul the line is swift
faces are warm the world is here
we have the journey as our gift

all landed safe none cast adrift
no crisis left to engineer
at istanbul the line is swift

we're moved along all hearts must lift
as each direction comes out clear
we have the journey as our gift

no simple one so for our thrift
we've been repaid and very dear
at istanbul the line is swift

but none can say that they've been stiffed
as cost of entry will appear
we have the journey as our gift

though we come far and have to sift
through memories made everywhere
at istanbul the line is swift
we have the journey as our gift

all softer magics fall before the lie
that eases into minds and dulls all taste
beneath its glamour we ignore the sky

where carrion birds in masses all now fly
above the lands that swiftly go to waste
all softer magics fall before the lie

we watch the largest rivers all run dry
and wonder just what pain we have embraced
beneath its glamour we ignore the sky

no one's ambitions here would move so high
now our best memories shall be erased
all softer magics fall before the lie

that all will soon be better by and by
when good and sacred words will be enplaced
beneath its glamour we ignore the sky

for far too long and now no honest eye
is left to note the urgent need for haste
all softer magics fall before the lie
beneath its glamour we ignore the sky

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

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

fearful and waking is no normal state
but leaden hours induce no better heat
than mental light and thoughts of long defeat
in bitter summer we're past the first gate
deep into the dark country bearing freight
of so much history still incomplete
all of it human both truth and deceit
all to requirement but none of it fate
so measure that we find the true belief
is what we know and give to all our folk
upon their waking to the morning chime
of bells that have not known a moment's grief
but ring the ending of inhuman yoke
and bid us all achieve a better time

we lack the honest mastery of time
though calendars and tables give the shape
of power to our lives and let us ape
the feeling of authority sublime
against the forces pushing from the slime
that are true horror still there's no escape
all in the end will stand with mouth agape
and weep and then fall back from the long climb
children look up and ask for a great dad
to hold their hands and pat them on the cheeks
while looking down from his house in the sky
the adult now can't help but feel quite sad
recalling that poor child with its soiled breeks
when first it learnt the whole tale was a lie

behind the house we see the jonquils blow
in the mild air when winter seems a lie
it is the time for all good things to grow

outside the breezes do not cease to flow
and clouds are scudding grey across the sky
behind the house we see the jonquils blow

so clearly yellow do those flowers show
they banish dullness and we can descry
it is the time for all good things to grow

life is so eager to get up and go
so energetic it could almost fly
behind the house we see the jonquils blow

returning from their sleep as if they know
we long for colour to delight each eye
it is the time for all good things to grow

in proper order this is nature's show
we only guide it then we smile and sigh
behind the house we see the jonquils blow
it is the time for all good things to grow

pale yellow blooms under a silver tree

out of a legend that we do not know

this warm reminder with its pallid glow



absent all anger absent too all glee

for a short season we absorb the show

pale yellow blooms under a silver tree



so magic fills the air and what we see

is all the ground covered in golden snow

a lovely moment if we let it be

pale yellow blooms under a silver tree

he saplings in the yard are in first leaf

their spring has now begun but it is late

maples they are and ruddy in relief



we ask the world for hope and no mischief

to strike us as we come out through the gate

the saplings in the yard are in first leaf



the pleasant season but we know it's brief

yet we are forced each year to a long wait

maples they are and ruddy in relief



time strikes us now as a harsh nasty thief

we look in pain at every passing date

the saplings in the yard are in first leaf



but life's revival brings no great relief

we're in the season of pain and debate

maples they are and ruddy in relief



all they can do now is recall hard grief

not reconcile us to eventual fate

the saplings in the yard are in first leaf

maples they are and ruddy in relief

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 dark disaster broken by harsh light
patter of voices sound of running feet
these lives that ended they were not so sweet
that does not matter for we had no right
to trample these brief hopes in the hot night
ignoring the short cry of mi nu dweet
the blotless orders always seem so neat
not so the blood and ordure in our sight
the noble man no brute can't bear the blame
see how the sorrow weighs upon his face
adding it seems another dozen years
we will not think of yet another name
the one whose presence we can't seem to trace
who sums up all our terrors and our fears

down south you forget the ripening leaves
and chilly mornings of bright october
no matter for redly a dying time grieves

sunlight on water fair smiling deceives
at dawn the frost shone ******* grass and clover
down south you forget the ripening leaves

yet clock there remains the swiftest of thieves
treating the same way both stayer and rover
no matter for redly a dying time grieves

telling each young one that what he believes
is false never true and patience is over
down south you forget the ripening leaves

slowly to slaughter we marched off the beeves
a suitable task for the youthful drover
no matter how redly a dying time grieves

the adult must measure how much he achieves
in calm acquiescence knowingly sober
down south you forget the ripening leaves
no matter how redly a dying time grieves

forbear to throw more weight upon the ***
since longer journey we must soon begin
the copper coin that the lone guide shall spin
no better guide through the hardest impasse
since at the end there may be but rough grass
and all our commons could turn out most thin
still none of that our better hope's to win
leaving our enemies in the morass
the hardest victory is still the first
when no experience is on our side
but suffering so all we know is pain
so we must say this has to be the worst
in largest part just to protect our pride
but also to account for your huge gain

we catch the ***** at night on the black road
just shovel them into the waiting bag
until the sweat pools and your spirits flag

above the stars signal in arcane code
while you wipe down with an old smelly rag
we catch the ***** at night on the black road

that leads us back to where the waters flowed
past all the places where we let hope sag
back into swamp where memories might nag
we catch the ***** at night on the black road

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

steam on the mountain road just after dark
we've brought our geyser with us this one time
and laughter in the moment seems a crime
which choice is easy though the answer's stark
you have to wait until the proper bark
get back inside and get back on the climb
when you get home you will wash off the grime
and wonder why the effort left no mark
we pass those places where the words of craft
are spoken gently where old wisdom sits
and are not moved we can no longer stay
safe in our skins to do that now is daft
instead we joke and battle with our wits
knowing that others follow in our way

all of our memories slip out through the net
fearsome grandmothers will not let us hide
the truth is bound up tightly with regret

when pain of living has us most upset
then we hear loudest voices that deride
all of  our memories slip out through the net

leaving behind just the fury and fret
the shouts of anger and the words that chide
the truth is bound up tightly with regret

no matter what the lie or epithet
effects of injury won't be denied
all of our memories slip out through the net

so we are trapped knowing we cannot let
our hearts be opened to the other side
the truth is bound up tightly with regret

for all we knew still the true course was set
from the beginning by our manic pride
all of our memories slip out through the net
the truth is bound up tightly with regret

love ties its hopes to what it thinks a rock
the furthest outlier of a merry isle
where there's no foe except the hateful clock

your modesty inclines you to take stock
in all those things that we would not revile
love ties its hopes to what it thinks a rock

impervious to any mortal shock
we hope to land and stay for quite a while
where there's no foe except the hateful clock

our ship is not for any normal dock
we've gone way past the ordinary style
love ties its hopes to what it thinks a rock

rejects enclosure will break every lock
and has more power still than any bile
where there's no foe except the hateful clock

though you despise and though you still may mock
our sacred purpose you cannot defile
love ties its hopes to what it thinks a rock
where there's no foe except the hateful clock

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

there are some facts that will my anger trigger
as when a child eats ******* from a skip
or dumb inanity escapes some lip
or when the worst express themselves with vigour
for i love best good honest thought and rigour
and want life to improve at a smart clip
to have a world with neither chain nor whip
where no one will be called a slave or ******
this is a future all can understand
and tightly hold in each understanding
where gold is not a synonym for worth
and help is to be found from every hand
while every boat comes tinto a safe landing
and every child is welcomed at their birth

in no great haste to change the solemn art
that deals with those who cannot render ease
in modern terms we make a florid start
presenting our regards upon our knees
as if our thoughts were villain amputees
regarding with some horror how the strain
of vision reaching through this veil of rain
has no effect on motion nor on rate
all in the end must seep into the brain
where only losers claim to lead the state

both rich and poor rub shoulders in the mart
while finding nothing that could truly please
an honest mind or else a yearning heart
since all the market has is hopping fleas
and some lost objects baking in the breeze
there's not a single value to retain
and all our hope might just go down the drain
as laughing gargoyles seem to contemplate
you cannot speak except now to complain
where only losers claim to lead the state

no one today would ever give a ****
for decent laws or honest high decrees
the vultures wait until the wolves depart
then each devours the carrion that it sees
there's no means left the monster to appease
just throw another **** upon the wain
since we have read the signal very plain
the door is shut and rescue's come too late
all that is left is one more ugly stain
where only losers claim to lead the state

prince as you look out from the morning train
you'll see the same old shadow once again
don't think of it as duty nor as fate
that's just a path that leads you to more pain
where only losers claim to lead the state

not unexpected even kings must die

it was no secret everyone had heard

there was no cloud across the winter sky



you sense the shaping know that what went by

though it was sudden was when it occurred

not unexpected even kings must die



at their due time emit their one last sigh

while many gathered hoping for some word

there was no cloud across the winter sky



no final opening of one bright eye

not a hoarse whisper we had long inferred

not unexpected even kings must die



in a bright room with no friend there to cry

a century's tears nor declare absurd

there was no cloud across the winter sky



you have to dance as if you were to fly

a man no more but a returning bird

not unexpected even kings must die

there was no cloud across the winter sky

the forest echoes when the mahoe falls
tall is the tree and strong deep is its root
at end of day even the staunchest bawls

honest men speak against all that appalls
their work is constant though most rare its fruit
the forest echoes when the mahoe falls

for just one instant fools delay their brawls
and bow their heads honour may touch the brute
at end of day even the staunchest bawls

at loss of friend we make our little calls
shed our few tears and learn it's absolute
the forest echoes when the mahoe falls

whether in calmness of the lecture-halls
or broadcasting to folk on their commute
at end of day even the staunchest bawls

knowing the silence that finally hauls
his voice away we cannot refute
the forest echoes when the mahoe falls
at end of day even the staunchest bawls

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

not only sounds but senses we require
to build the worlds in which our hearts will fit
all meanings in the end must add to fire

in order that we see that those who hire
the truth in stages do not crimes commit
not only sounds but senses we require

to bring our vision to a place that's higher
beyond the limits where the foolish sit
all meanings in the end must add to fire

when what comes after means we must retire
from all our options while the times permit
not only sounds but senses we require

for matters that will lead all to aspire
far past the normal so that atoms split
all meanings in the end must add to to fire

that is the certainty life is no liar
she's the true joker the mistress of wit
not only sounds but senses we require
all meanings in the end must add to fire

rage overflows the normal decent heart
breaking  the rule of ordinary mind
to take us right back to a sorry start

where we are governed by no common art
of ancient orders that were never kind
rage overflows the normal decent heart

once each has learnt that justice will depart
with no conclusion save the one designed
to take us right back to a sorry start

ensuring that  all of our limbs will smart
while we'll be stuck more deeply in the bind
rage overflows the normal decent heart

while all the  good and kindly fall apart
and the best choices have now been declined
to take us right back to a sorry start

where those who gather do not give a ****
for what should matter and the world seems blind
rage overflows the normal decent heart
to take us right back to a sorry start

no mystery nor reason for the day
to start so simply since the bright alarm
brought us to wakefulness with simple charm
while this last warden had now news to say
but that there were some causes for delay
and none for haste but we are past all harm
of foolish words nor may the time disarm
our urgent thoughts we must be on our way
onward to where the final tolling bell
cannot be heard and then so far beyond
that on our senses we cannot depend
who will not know if any live to tell
the meaning and the substance of our bond
or who will care that any reach the end

so here we are beneath the pallid ray
of summer noontime seeking to escape
for just one moment from the normal shape
of discreet instance so that we might play
a different sort of role where one could say
the angry words to those with mouth agape
that tell apart the angel from the ape
but those are for another cooler day
instead we look to work a better will
in places where the choice is not so bright
as underneath the growing midday roar
of silver needles passing by the hill
each flashing clearly in the brilliant light
so bidding us to join with them and soar

too many answers come down to the same
non-explanation of the simple fact
we are the ones who always bear the blame

for all the anger we have one hard name
clear and precise both noble and exact
too many answers come down to the same

wave of exhaustion so that we must claim
not what we earned but all the goods we lacked
we are the ones who always bear the blame

for what was lost and for the constant shame
that was included in the lost compact
too many answers come down to the same

inauguration of the truth of fame
which we can neither add to nor detract
we are the ones who always bear the the blame

for those who come when we call the right name
but have no thought of what it means to act
too many answers come down to the same
we are the ones who always bear the blame

i miss the master of the golden house
who has gone down to view the changing tide
or so i'm told perhaps to soothe my pride
for some new message now i must espouse
before the last new flame we have to douse
in the new dawn there is no place to hide
this anger at being taken for a ride
or knowledge that i'm smaller than a mouse
vision is lost the message all unsent
when signal flame no longer seems to  leap
above the hills nor on the mountain peak
can any see just where the last word went
now no one has a single hearth to keep
and in the clamour none would dare to speak

you think we missed the road when we did not

make the right turn and soon were in the corn

a point of loss but she was not forsworn



and got us out of there to the right spot

no loss of time nor yet reason for scorn

you think we missed the road when we did not



our guide had things to say and just forgot

the proper way you know her heart was torn

but still we passed right by where she was born

you think we missed the road when we did not

no meaning in these texts that is not bright
even in caverns that have known no sun
nor any warming heat since world begun
their sense is clarity their essence light
each word is set to open up in flight
as avian wisdom that we could not shun
even rock-bound its glories seem to stun
the wary heart with knowledge of the right
so having learnt a simple truth we turn
our faces to the task that now seems plain
to uncurl horrors and restore the chief
dependency of each old mind to earn
the wages of such learning once again
in this cold season of the fallen leaf

now say good riddance to the year gone by
at one more fading of the foolish light
with full rejoicing that you did not die

tomorrow sun will rise on the same sky
and yours will be the task to get things right
now say good riddance to the year gone by

do not dwell long on how it seemed to fly
right past your thought and your diminished might
with full rejoicing that you did not die

get on your feet and led the hard words lie
just keep in mind that things could be less bright
now say good riddance to the year gone by

and get on with the stuff you can't deny
the tasks the pile up and the work not slight
with full rejoicing that you did not die

in dreamless sleep where all thought had run dry
you live for now don't rush the longest night
now say good riddance to the year gone by
with full rejoicing that you did not die