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

being denizen of no place ready set
within the bounds of the sublunar realm
is nowise daunting the facts overwhelm
only the weaker minds instead each debt
incurred in course of duty or regret
is paid in full by shade of oak or elm
in memory of the old man with cracked helm
by one who can't resist that final bet
each night is sacrificed so that my rest
becomes a loss that's added to the pile
just one more line that goes into the jest
another little twist those are in style
the truth is always harder than the lie
that's what they tell us then they say goodbye

lacking all doubt choices unmade we scream
into the noon the sum of all our fears
not caring much about the weight of dream

on every several head until the beam
of milky light reveals the open tears
lacking all doubt choices unmade we scream

not only terrified but eyes agleam
with anger so this long hard tale of years
not caring much about the weight of dream

has caught each up in both the milk and cream
and blended in the message of our cares
lacking all doubt choices unmade we scream

all of our secrets in one clouded stream
while all around we feel the touch of stares
not caring much about the weight of dream

in middle day when the truth reigns supreme
denying mercy in the moveless airs
lacking all doubt choices unmade we scream
not caring much about the weight of dream

observe the future and record the past
that's our plain duty and it is enough
to get us our redemption at long last

we're only part of the supporting cast
whose job it is to murmur words of fluff
observe the future and record the past

while others move about the world so fast
they seem like angels yet we call their bluff
to get us our redemption at long last

our task's not simple though we have been classed
among the lesser folk the job is tough
observe the future and record the past

note who showed fear and who survived the blast
that changed the world write all fear no rebuff
to get us our redemption at long last

though there are horrors we'll not stand aghast
nor yield to silence or fear of the rough
observe the future and record the past
to get us our redemption  at long last

what matters in the end is you were kind
even to those you thought far in the wrong
which brought its wisdom and it made you strong
when the all the shouters said you undermined
goodness itself while you cursed them for blind
unpatriotic fools chanting their lone song
always so eager to make pain last long
while you desired to open up each mind
now that is in the past and what is left
is wisdom recollect gentle words and soft
suggestions made without pretence or guile
we see so clearly how all ends in theft
of those things we have held highest aloft
but we will all get to there in a while

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

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

this is the day when we may bless the sun
no cloud can daunt us once we're through the night
for on this morning all our good is won

the long dark course of horror has been run
so now we have true clarity of sight
this is the day when we may bless the sun

not as our whip for that time is now done
but as an honest beneficent light
for on this morning all our good is won

we must make real the tales that once we spun
around the fire to keep our spirits bright
this is the day when we may bless the sun

for now there is no fear of lance or gun
since we may dance in our masters' despite
for on this morning all our good is won

service to past and future we won't shun
nor ever drop from memory the long fight
this is the day when we may bless the sun
for on this morning all our good is won

our hearts with humour and with pain are crammed
the world defies our choices and our rage
in the republic of the wholly ******

we spoke and then our thoughts were truly slammed
by those who said that with keen words on page
our hearts with humour and with pain are crammed

the metre's right and the line's not enjambed
yet all we get is a poor poet's wage
in the republic of the wholly ******

since for the moment the signal's not jammed
so that the the enemy cannot engage
our hearts with humour and with pain are crammed

until they burst and our dead corpses rammed
into the the dullest moments of the age
in the republic of the wholly dammed

by those who thought that the most decent shammed
their honest words and strutted on a stage
our hearts with humour and with pain are crammed
in the republic of the wholly dammed

now spring appears all verdant on the scene
there's weight of dust and water in the air
all eyes are taken by the sudden green

the change of seasons never comes quite clean
but winter's going with one sort of care
now spring appears all verdant on the scene

to reassure us that the great machine
continues working now the signs are fair
all eyes are taken by the sudden green

the starting colours almost seem obscene
after the starkness yet we cannot fear
now spring appears all verdant on the scene

as roughnesses are covered by a screen
of leaves and blossoms and now we stare
all  eyes are taken by the sudden green

of trees and bushes that we had long seen
bare and asleep so now a new affair
now spring appears all verdant on the scene
all eyes are taken by the sudden green

some choose some wait but heroes seldom laugh
at life or fate that's for  the braver fool
who enters action with a certain cool
and finishes the final paragraph
not in the weeds and out beyond the chaff
like any villain we who've been to school
refuse to smile obedient to that rule
established on the citizens' behalf
which choices made permit you to depart
towards new worlds where other pains await
not eager now as you were at the start
but better studied in the ways of fate
yours is the hand but not the means to guide
the angry heart away from paths of pride

this is the verb that we declare must stand
for place and season taken out of time
by our decision rendered full sublime
by simplest action of creative hand
uttered each morning by serene command
the sound itself is richer than each chime
of golden bells tuned to a perfect prime
while the symbolic meaning is so grand
all that we say can be reduced to this
concision of significance and sound
where every symbol strains into the light
yet not a thing is here that we could miss
even if we retreat to harder ground
since we have turned our backs upon the night

what we have managed is to slowly fail

out of the passion where we did not mark

each fallen moment nor discern the stark

announcement of the coming winter gale

and so were lost now this message is stale

lacking all force and having no more spark

than a dead candle yet we must embark

on one more journey out beyond the pale

to where the signal has not ever gone

that says just what we are or who we were

and thus sets limits on what we might do

that way we're told the battle might be won

or ought to be if only we would dare

step out and act as if the world were new

now pink and white to trumpet urgent spring
we see these blooms that were not there last night
and hearts are gladdened by this joyful sight
such lovely touches a fine day can bring
with the whole world brought into proper swing
nature's true colours turned honestly bright
after soft rain that seemed for once just right
both mind and heart demand to shout and sing
order will pass we know but for this day
we take the kindness as a goodly gift
one all the better since it soon will pass
into oblivion as is still the way
of all those living things which move so swift
from blazing sight to underneath the grass

a moment's vision just a little nudge
of seeing what the normal eye can't see
in moving time just so we might agree
on one fast rule but no you will not budge
from  that position nor will you begrudge
what we assume is given us for free
to stay or go just so each has to be
the honest broker and the silent judge
this course of pain is now so well begun
you take the measure and devise a trap
knowing that soon the true moment will come
since each desire has in us one swift run
a journey noted well upon the map
and valued now at a gigantic sum

from mountains coloured by no faint regret
there's never pause to think we must be past
the urgent moment when we were beset

by what seemed armies that could not forget
the banner that was once seen on our mast
from mountains coloured by no faint regret

yet we must move to wait would be to fret
and patience is for those who have not passed
the urgent moment when we were beset

from every side but still would take the bet
against despair we could not be outclassed
from mountains coloured with no faint regret

each could discern what would not be upset
till beyond hope all pilgrims would hold fast
the urgent moment when we were beset

right at the point where all the roads had met
and journeys would have reached their end at last
from mountains coloured by no faint regret
the urgent moment when we were beset

careful with the measure but still short
of what was needed to assure the mind
that we moved forward certain and not blind
grounded in reason never to abort
without good cause ours not the plan to thwart
but to complete the task we were assigned
tie up the knots and leave others to find
what judgment they would in the final court
instead we tread the boards in heady dance
uncertain of the beat and of the cure
while far above us scud the autumn clouds
driven by winds we know not ruled by chance
under a law that is far less than pure
that leads us all towards the cold grey shrouds

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

far out beyond the eastern shore
where all our senses ought to fail
the howling realm of shark and whale

exist dim hints of something more
another place on larger scale
far out beyond the eastern shore

what's there is easy to ignore
the oceans are too wide to sail
waters are deep winds loudly wail
far out beyond the eastern shore

with what fresh words of choice or soft regret
are we to fight our battles now that time
has tolled against us the dull weight of grime
obscures our vision but no sort of debt
to past or future could hurt or abet
the heart of purpose as we seek to climb
beyond this moment past the normal slime
where there is neither  injury nor fret
you see us crawling searching for one spark
of ordinary kindness that might lead
the normal person from their weary plight
relieve our hearts from burden of the dark
reward with honour the most worthy deed
and grant assurance of a renewed light

the job before us is to chop the hog
into constituent parts and serve the meat
to all the hungry cut up into neat
easily cooked servings none for the dog
but plenty to be seared upon the log
given a thorough and sufficient heat
and then served up for all the poor to eat
spreading good warmth throughout the cold and fog
so much is duty and the common task
of ordinary service and the name
we give is cruel but the purpose just
to do the action that good heart may ask
of any decent players of the game
who know the meanings of both light and trust

resounding horns in deep glittering cave
not music now nor urgent call of hunt
a message that is both banal and blunt
containing nothing that we need or crave
yet full of meaning those who are so brave
may striking upward swiftly to confront
the enemy who blasts may hear them grunt
with sudden shock of nothing left to save
our hope is not in music nor in joy
of victory hard won by those who fought
without the expectation of reward
we seek instead the means to best employ
the tools of wisdom and the ways of thought
to bring about best means of good accord

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

there are deep echoes across the dry wall
so sky seems brassy and bereft of cloud
while goat is nimble and tempts you to fall

to stony death where no one will recall
how once you were so youthful and so proud
there are deep echoes across the dry wall

where the old vultures circle seeing all
the land below them forested or ploughed
while goat is nimble and tempts you to fall

from narrow path your heart now seems so small
and fate so large the silence seems so loud
there are deep echoes across the dry wall

the distant birds across the sky now scrawl
in ragged letters on the small puffy cloud
while goat is nimble and tempts you to fall

into forever certain none will bawl
the earth itself will be your only shroud
there are deep echoes across the dry wall
while goat is nimble and tempts you to fall

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

where all the edges reach into the heart
are no clear corners nor a single sign
that time is changing the dividing line
is never crossed yet all are kept apart
by the hard means of some still arcane art
which the most foolish will insist divine
or claim as kindly warm tender benign
although they bleed from entry of the dart
we're far into the strange realm of the blind
where all the rules evil and perverse
and every bullet seems to find its mark
dead centre but the lying human mind
insists reality can't be adverse
that all is light down here deep in the dark

we always seem to leave there in the rain
not in light drizzle but a heavy pour
that catches us straightway we leave the door
yet we're back with no reason once again
to find our way through torrents to the plain
it seems too much and yet we ask for more
as if this were a torment we adore
the price of pleasure being this hard strain
the thunder speaks and we dare not respond
since all our fears are centred in that sound
when it is echoed by each traitor heart
revealing that we won't refuse the bond
and most afraid that hope will not rebound
because our hands and minds have lost the art

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

not given much to metaphor as fact
the student struggles to relate her tale
each sentence on its own will sag or fail
the effort turns out bloated not compact
her model is the sermon and the tract
and writing comes to her like time in gaol
the style is cold the images are stale
and the whole enterprise with pain is packed
the reader wants so much to go outside
and take his whirling thoughts for a long walk
but finishing the job is all his pride
so from the horrid task he dare not balk
no leave nor yet excuse he has to plead
so the next essay he picks up to read

they fill in visions and repeat in sound
the touch of light on rock the moving shade
marking a changing time then the parade
of trucks and buses moving folk around
since we must hurry to get off this ground
back to our homes back to the normal trade
of simple speaking in words that are flayed
out of all meaning then twisted and bound
a short escape leads to another place
with older energies but the same tide
washed on that shore beneath a certain light
allowing these historians to trace
the roots of anger and the base of pride
straight to their homes in certainty and right

we make our choices with honest conviction
and are persuaded that an angry curse
is just a matter for some plangent verse
or else results from sloppy bad male diction
all our desire is life with little friction
and we can't understand how the converse
happens how all our actions make things worse
just why the happy ending's only fiction
to tell this story would take me too long
so it must be cut short and that's a shame
since all the world is hanging on the tale
still all in all what hurts makes us more strong
and better able soon to win the game
while early victors in the end must fail

we navigate by methods good and fair
our science has been tested and found true
for many seasons the hard-working crew
have full and thorough trust in our good care
so do not worry at the changing air
in certainty that we have paid our due
before the mast the storms we have been through
are the best measure of how much we dare
yet each adventure has its own sweet trap
since we dare not refuse to face the test
so must discover just how little sure
we really are of what is on the map
and what we know but must face all with zest
for all that matters is that we endure

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

there's no sense in the judgment that we make
concerning all the tricks of the old trade
nor in belief that turns out to be fake
in all those things that are fated to fade
the world is as it is and what must come
is less not more than what we'd thought the sum
of what we earn in simple steady pay
but given to us with little delay
we're far too eager and give in to haste
the infant mind attains its highest sway
so what is human ends up most abased

our duty never got an honest shake
but found its honour hidden in the shade
while we were learning good things by mistake
and wondering why none came by to aid
for our relief we did not earn a crumb
while happy others made off with the plum
meanwhile the foolish urged us just to pray
as if that answer were more than cliché
while our best efforts had to be replaced
and matters finished in another way
so what is human ends up most abased

the truth is clear we could not get a break
from anybody here the whole charade
was guaranteed  to maximise their take
and in the process our spirits abrade
dumping us all down in the meanest slum
because we were so obviously dumb
we were served up upon a silver tray
trapped and devoured to our immense dismay
our skills dismissed and all of us disgraced
moulded and shaped just like the softest clay
so what is human ends up most abased

prince you observe as we suffer this day
ordering whips our tender backs to flay
you think this moment easily erased
yours is the power and the word today
so what is human ends up most abased

what's real and true of all the stuff we learn
throughout each life is given extra sheen
by honest labour it will never burn

the deeper vision that permits a turn
towards an understanding of the seen
what's real and true of all the stuff we learn

both in and out of school is the concern
for honest dealing which becomes so keen
by honest labour it will never burn

our hands but lead us rather to discern
the better way by which to intervene
what's real and true of all the stuff we learn

reminds us of the need for what we earn
not just for us but those in the machine
by honest labour it will never burn

the ones who cry and those who only yearn
for what is not and what has never been
what's real and true of all the stuff we learn
by honest labour it will never burn

so what disrupts requires that we select
with all due art the silver from the dross
taking no notice of what's on the boss
nor even caring truth must have effect
while each must go as their own hearts direct
with grant of knowledge given in the gloss
by those who count the plus side as a loss
for what we had is gone naught will connect
into the afternoon the buzzards plunge
upon the corpse of wisdom is their feast
where all is ended save the scent of dung
here is a sight that nothing could expunge
when hope and virtue have together ceased
and only curses rise from every tongue

on knutsford boulevard the doctor bird
sips nectar from the blossoms in the noise
of passing traffic and the tall absurd
motions of people yet the creature's poise
is magical unaltered by the place
or human action honest of its kind
but still as brutal does not steal its grace
restoring beauty in a time that's blind
to this reality there's one more cast
that memory had woken an older tale
of pain and loss from a forgotten past
where all the goods must come at end to fail
yet truth will flutter on a humming wing
asking the heart in spite of all to sing

after the rain i hear the ravens call
one sits a moment on the highest crown
of autumn hemlock then it wings on down
into the valley bringing on the fall
of hanging drops the evergreens are tall
in pale sunlight the day chooses to frown
upon my actions leaves are turning brown
on the wet lawn this cycle fulfills it all
inside the cat comes up to sniff my feet
fearful of noises from the great outside
but still desiring to know what is there
the sounds and silences of our small street
muffled so easily when we are inside
but sharp and carrying in the open air

a meeting graven deep in the recall
so scents and colours you cannot repress
the place the time all seem to coalesce
the heat was summer but the season fall
and from this distance no detail is small
since paths were crossed and cannot now regress
back out of meaning life itself must bless
what we have been and forbid us to bawl
now roads will take us far but not so far
that voices cannot take us back in time
to where the light first taught us how to touch
our minds to plastic shapes that had no scar
before to hope was made a sort of crime
and any knowledge had become too much

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

no name will matter at the very last
when all the pains we wandered for are done
in the last drops we crave of pallid sun
and the dark bones we hate are being cast
we'll smile and nod knowing we were outclassed
by those we taught who passed us on the run
not knowing that the game was not in fun
and soon they too will fade into the past
all that we know is just a tiny bit
of the whole tale a mere partial story
which each is given for their proper role
enough to play with some essay at wit
although we all wish the full of glory
not one of us can grasp the very whole

such easy choices made by those still young
who do not see the meanings of each hour
but hope to be there when the green woods flower
and other words come flying off the tongue
these are triumphs all of which we've sung
before old time could our weak hearts devour
in slender hope that's we'd still have the power
that from our last reserve of pain was wrung
no other option left but truth to tell
we'd go the same dull route if given chance
to start all over and redo the game
it's not as if we play it all that well
but more that we just know only this dance
and are afraid to show too bright a flame

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

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

sounds matter but true meaning's in the eye
where what we note of colour size or shape
becomes the means by which honest escape
from what is known and what we can descry
by normal means will happen by and by
for each of us the record on the tape
is not the whole we're not out of the scrape
just when we we think the story has to die
so let the note be sounded once for all
while the conductor smiles at his good task
for we have taken on the cloak of grace
by overcoming each pain of the fall
from mortal height to these shores where we bask
in warmth and joy beyond the cold embrace

go through the shallows then out past the wreck
until you reach the point where water burns
you’ll know it clearly by the sharp returns
then note the ship the one with golden deck
and figurehead of angel with wry neck
you’d sign up on her as one does who yearns
for urgent journeys yet as each child learns
there are no funds left to support the cheque
still without vision no one would begin
a single enterprise and we’d remain
stuck in the mud unable to set sail
instead we face each whimsy with a grin
allow the facts of chance to come out plain
and turn our faces right into the gale

across the gully is another place
a different world with silver roughbarked trees
where stubborn beasts resist you on their knees
while walls and fences leave a proper trace
for those bewildered nature shows her face
in complicated motions that each sees
in the raw colours and the harsh decrees
that come upon us with the morning's grace
so this is recollection of the sight
from high above broad river as the grey
of false dawn marks the ending of the night
but here and now the moment cannot stay
we've paid hard cash for all that we have lost
and got no credit for the hills we've crossed

let us recall  the best effects of style
when those who listen know how best to hear
and do not injure those who hold most dear
the hidden blessings of the final mile
rather they wish the urgent to beguile
expecting that the best might engineer
sounds that will please the most discerning ear
and lead once drooping eyes to shine and smile
the age of wonder has no fixed return
but comes upon us as we seem to find
not a changed world but a remarked abode
the home that we have loved for which we yearn
that seemed so hidden for time out of mind
appear before us as we climb the road

it is so easy to drift down to sleep
when the weak body lacking all defence
is at a moment when matters are tense
just eager to collapse into the deep
comfort of the dark hardest thoughts will keep
until winter sun makes some vague pretense
at warming earth but we have little sense
of whether honest hearts may make the leap
into the morning now we have some hope
that better judgment will be after night
and waking eyes will look on clearer choice
that at the least each will know how to cope
in what will be a keener form of light
and in a place where each will have a voice

our meanings come from choices handed down
by those who built the towers and raised the sky
the folk who farmed the fields and filled the town
who'd made the horrid trip and did not die
their long hope was back to lost home to fly
but all the horrors made their footsteps slow
while home was lost in the far eastern glow
they had their duties and their constant care
and all the many pains we cannot know
all changed with dessalines at vertières

so much depends upon a simple frown
a gesture or a winking of the eye
to  make disaster or to grant renown
turn all our wishes into one great lie
or  send us each to the last great good-bye
by means of one most massive mortal blow
that bursts the normal cheery human flow
and sends us hurtling to the upper air
until that moment all had seemed too slow
all changed with dessalines at vertières

the human is a move from verb to noun
a chance to prove that we can best rely
upon the one who could not play the clown
but was the stalwart soul who did not cry
under the lash but rather chose to fly
with the fresh dawn and the new morning glow
the day of history when all would know
just what we were and how much we would dare
to do when we came up from down below
all changed with dessalines at vertières

prince you have heard your men were far too slow
to face our wrath and take the angry blow
that meant our freedom in the open air
do not be angry for you could not know
the outcome would be more than a tableau
all changed with dessalines at vertières