when all is measured time begins to grate
upon the senses then we have to start
a different sort of journey where the part
that makes our human feeling more than freight
is what's required to set the message straight
not only in the realms of work and art
but so the honest signal might depart
from deep inside to past the furthest gate
not every cloud is signal of new rain
or so we learn from waiting as each night
the sigh of wind brings us no fresh relief
from all our suffering and the hard pain
nor are the killer birds disturbed in flight
nor yet the door secured against the thief

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

where no one sits there’s no reason to wait
yet there are many who with sharp regard
look in the distance with eyes that are hard
to see what they can measure of the gait
or bearing of the folk whose heavy freight
will end like all things in the somber yard
together with the honest and disbarred
and all that we can do is blame dull fate
our vision does not fail yet when we glance
outside the window matters not so bold
will move us not to hope but unto ire
for what we know seems ruled by evil chance
while brilliant sunshine does nothing to cold
since long ago each chose to bank the fire

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

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

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

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

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

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

no trumpets echo in the deepest night
each is alone and must make their own way
towards the portals that let in new day
lacking the hearty pleasures of insight
and most uncertain still the ******* fright
will not much longer have unfettered sway
within this realm nor will the foolish bray
insisting on what cannot long be right
what we find true belongs to honest chance
the golden bloom that in the dawn we pluck
with loving thoughts arisen in each heart
ready the while to furnish our advance
with certainty that goes beyond plain luck
and all the wisdom that is from our art

in the beginning we counted no cost
but went rejoicing into the warm rain
so now more grimly we face what we've lost

so many choices into the mix tossed
almost at random it all seemed so plain
in the beginning we counted no cost

as being worth waiting no text was glossed
for hidden messages all was just gain
so now more grimly we face what we've lost

a world more troubled a future star-crossed
no brilliant thoughts emerging from each brain
in the beginning we counted no cost

instead we are the ones who now are bossed
ordered about and marked with a sad stain
so now more grimly we face what we've lost

knowing that morning will see the first frost
that signals a new winter with its pain
in the beginning we counted no cost
so now more grimly we face what we've lost

when falls the echo on forgotten ground
none of our heroes can come up for air
since there is not one inch's room to spare
for exploration and we must confound
the masters of each noble hill and mound
who watch as we succumb to deep despair
and laugh while those who voice kind words of care
fall silent as our last good hopes are drowned
the long goodnight that none would dare to say
to any who has travelled through that cloud
past all the boundaries of human grime
is spoken now so we might reach a day
when all that's visible all that's allowed
within the reach of normal common time
is but the text of one less moral play

no one who feels the changing seasons' bite
can be assured that growth is purely good
since each tall tree each ancient of the wood
that waits there leafless through the winter night
with chilly taproot is in the same plight
as you might be and has for long withstood
the final pain in ways you wish you could
but it wont matter there'll be a last rite
spring is too short and one day sap won't rise
to renew bud and energise new leaf
but for the moment all we have is time
and universes open to our eyes
the products none of them of our belief
while every limb towards the sun must climb

all of our answers turn out to be true
though journeys start and end in pouring rain
there comes a time to pause and take the view

our knowledge is constrained by what is new
not by the old nor yet by thoughts of gain
all of our answers turn out to be true

since what we've done must constitute a coup
in favour of the honest and the plain
there comes a time to pause and take the view

of all the folk whose minds may yet construe
the simple vision that when we entrain
all of our answers turn out to be true

both to our hearts and to those who are due
the seats of honour and the high domain
there comes a time to pause and take the view

when all is clear and the noon sky full blue
we are redeemed by virtue of our pain
all of our answers turn out to be true
there comes a time to pause and take the view

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

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

whatever happens there is no regret
for tempests that  have shredded new-leaved trees
awakening the youthful from their ease
into a present that is all upset
where each is cast at once deep into debt
not knowing whom to help nor whom to please
frozen in place by the harsh sky's decrees
and driven only to hard fear and fret
still there are signs that we have not been told
all that we need in order to get by
the simple passage of each normal plight
instead we're warned to be urgent and bold
focus inhuman danger in the eye
but not be lured by any trick of 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

there's no choice that the ordinary make
each normal day that driven by desire
in all those things the heart seeks to acquire
we wish to fault and yet the words that break
in angry torrents on our backs must take
all of our patience since they each require
that we must suffer and yet hold our fire
while moving onward for our freedom's sake
not that we grudge the right to raging voice
of those who do not understand that change
must happen that new things must come to be
in this old world and that we should rejoice
to see emergence of the happy strange
and energetic lives of liberty

impossible to miss that shining blue
the eye drawn outward to the furthest bound
where sense and vision come together drowned
in the immensity of that deep hue
where worlds and hopes are both slightly askew
some better wisdom is what we have found
where other souls in torment run aground
justice may grant an option to renew
no mind's enough to catch at all we need
for this long voyage through the middle air
though patience grants a chance to set all right
when each has found some soil to plant a seed
and seen it nurtured given proper care
allowed to shoot its blossom into light

a missionary aching to be done
with all the trappings of the muddy past
shed the sad history as a worm its cast
be new and happy in the springtime sun
we know who has this and there is not one
secure or guarded from the sullen blast
of deep-felt hatred striking at the last
signs of old story shouting out they've won
there are some means of easing the old ire
of turning rage back into wholesome ways
of decent living yet we watch each fail
as all our truths are cast into the fire
just so a new world can face different days
and there can be a better kind of tale

beneath the cloud is clarity of sight
where choices made do not entail regret
but only wistfulness that we have set
our hopes too high as swiftly-coming night
will end the journey still in our despite
there's magic against which we may not bet
so each must laugh while all the foolish fret
for there's still someone who can make all right
not for us here the option to renew
all the old answers that no longer serve
to cover up what must now be made plain
those monstrous forms that we refuse to view
or the old houses just around the curve
where we used to take shelter from the rain

this is the truth that no one need be told
we do not go the same way that we came
the downhill path is not the very same
as the short tunnel out of the long cold
but journey's one for coward and for bold
with equal vision for the wild and tame
and one good reason that we guard the flame
from foolish youth until we are too old
the crooked timber frames a crooked world
still we would have no other and the best
is what we make since there is none above
to judge or burden so with flag unfurled
we must go forward to confront the test
our only certainty before is love

no accident of language catches quite
the changing shades of meaning that reflect
not what is said but what we could reject
if well presented to our proper sight
but when we take as given in due right
and not as secrets of some hidden sect
they are the matters we have truly checked
and we are lost deep in the summer night
yet no one wonders at the altered state
nor at the clash of symbols that is seen
by those few waking through the starlit time
eager  to find a different sort of fate
but not to learn just what it ought to mean
nor yet the purpose of the long hard climb

yesterday's snow is ***** now and dark
we look for ice and worry about shade
as the sun rises and the long parade
of normal time resumes along the stark
roads and each newly-woken seems to mark
a world made gritty when light must abrade
both faith and fear the horror we have made
there's nothing but the chance of a new spark
from a great distance in another zone
there's news more bitter than the fleeting cold
and nothing that can make it feel more light
since each plain word will cut right to the bone
yet do no more than let us know what's told
which is that all will come to end in night

who saw the flame and saw us put it out
was not the first but fell soon into line
marching in order that was the design
both for the wayward and the most devout
seemingly magic but we dare to pout
noting this sourness far from the divine
where modern forces just cannot combine
and older strength no longer is so stout
assert what's true in spite of all this heat
it will not matter no one will be told
the proper story what is is to fail
in our sad hour this token of defeat
is valued more than coin of hoarded gold
while honesty remains so long on sale

a story told  was measured once in lead
the words turned cold and grey with its hard weight
but in our age we value fear and dread

a single message on the page was spread
to give the people the plain meaning straight
a story told was measured once in lead

meanings held firm in each old reader's head
if not on paper we could see the date
but in our age we value fear and dread

above the meanings that were sent to bed
as the last call of copy came so late
a story told was measured once in lead

where pixels and electrons rule instead
no paradise nor  true human estate
for in our age we value fear and dread

up to the point where even we are led
to recognise the symbols on the plate
a story told was measured once in lead
but in our age we value fear and dread

we find no limits on these warming days
when the horizon beckons us to flee
out past the forest deep into the haze

for those indoors whose eyes are all aglaze
with lack of vision there's a thing to see
we find no limits on these warming days

our minds are liberated from the maze
of ordinary tasks we choose to be
out past the forest deep into the haze

where all of life has changed in this new phase
the rules are different both for bird and tree
we find no limits on these warming days

where light and colour mingle in one blaze
while heart and mind in peace have to agree
out past the forest deep into the haze

breaking the silence in melodious phrase
one chant of joy from mountain down to sea
we find no limits on these warming days
out past the forest deep into the haze

the seeking eye that even seems to speak
of urgent matters at an early time
is the best weapon wielded by the weak

not in the option given to the meek
to keep heads lowered as the sweet bells chime
the seeking eye that even seems to speak

looks through a wall apparently unique
but hidden in its recesses and grime
is the best weapon wielded by the weak

a simple tool not modern nor antique
whose users have come under in their prime
the seeking eye that even seems to speak

and not been frighted they are past critique
able to know just where in the long climb
is the best weapon wielded by the weak

those who are able find they are to peek
in hidden places for the true sublime
the seeking eye that even seems to speak
is the best weapon wielded by the weak

missing the answer means that when the true
vision of justice fills this hungry mind
it is not understood i have turned blind
to what is obvious not known the due
reception of the gifts of midday blue
warm and attractive nothing left behind
to be cleaned up by the unfailing kind
while i accept the price for what is due
time makes no changes on its very own
except in the bland lies that old folk tell
to calm the foolish on their downward run
instead they  seek to gnaw upon cold stone
while listening for the distant warning bell
and for the sound of the last urgent gun

some mention made then must the silence fall
upon the envies that have held us late
within the barrier lacking all freight
of decency or commerce but the tall
protectors of our honour lightly call
on such devotion as the wise relate
in their long histories and we do not state
a better truth the pain belongs to all
so what is earned after the sacrifice
no one regards as worthy of our toil
since it has fallen from no awesome height
but rather we are told that the full price
is not a matter for complaint or broil
but can be settled in a day and night

the voices that are loudest in the dark
need not be those on which we must depend
call on a hope that's ample and not stark

for which new voyage when we first embark
there's no clear meaning that we could intend
the voices which are loudest in the dark

are not the ones we first set out to mark
on whose loud booming our thoughts would perpend
call on a hope that's ample and not stark

that is the task of scholar priest and clerk
here now to master each unworldly trend
the voices that are loudest in the dark

will not be those who cannot just remark
on ordinary passage they must bend
call on a hope that's ample and not stark

allow the motion to ignite a spark
of true humanity before the end
the voices that are loudest in the dark
call on a hope that's ample and not stark

out of the cloud one moment of calm rain
and silver light can overwhelm the sense
we're left with life the journey may commence
our path is known our purpose now made plain
even to fools nothing left to detain
the cautious watcher there's no great defence
we have to make our task is not intense
all is gone past that we have to attain
so now the summing up the verdict clear
on who the losers were and what they lost
paid for in full without a single word
by those who smiled and laughed in the free air
enduring all and knowing what it cost
but still rejoicing in the free absurd

where no man argues and no woman fights
for good or evil we have reached an end
of human battles and the stars portend
no better indications as the nights
close in we note their distant blinking lights
as symbols we might faintly comprehend
when we are whole but what the worlds intend
is not a matter that we have to rights
the argument of workers in the day
or farmers when the wind upsets the trees
is much the same as when we all were young
to bring about the work without delay
ignore the rain and not yield to the breeze
since a strong back outdoes a silver tongue

so all we hear today is cannons’ boom
their echo forms our terrible surround
for this whole century the world’s a tomb

it isn’t that we just ran out of room
for good intentions our shots will redound
so all we hear today is cannons’ boom

from shore to shore and the explosives’ bloom
accompanied by their pervading sound
for this whole century the world’s a tomb

though skies are sunny we are cast in gloom
parents and children thrown into the mound
so all we hear today is cannons’ boom

perhaps in time some scholar will exhume
the reason why we all now lie in ground
for this whole century the world’s a tomb

and every hope has fallen down to doom
while goodness trust and honesty are bound
so all we hear today is cannons’ boom
for this whole century the world’s a tomb

returning home and noting the white blooms
and purple blossoms as the year proceeds
to resurrect the signs of healthy deeds
that furtive humans keep to quiet rooms
not wanting to announce that life resumes
its normal course that each of us concedes
our mortal happiness too flowers bleeds
and has its joyous moments not just dooms
a simple justice tells us to observe
how the world works and then to understand
how great our folly that we seek to hold
back the ticking clock think we can preserve
all fragile nature if we lift a hand
and keep the flower perfect if we're bold

edge cases are the ones we have to test
the bounds of who and how we are to know
not truly purpose but beneath it flow
with reason and direction to invest
both mind and fortune as at once possessed
before we're dragged down by the undertow
no hope of rescue since our hero's slow
while time is real and out here uncompressed
we need our little lies or so it seems
just to make sense of all the complex tales
read every morning on electric air
as we awake from satisfying dreams
not truly certain that we know what fails
nor why the trees are all now dry and bare

few are the leaves and buds late on these trees
that heart grows weak and even time might ail
as weathers slowly change while the clouds sail
above our heads driven by random breeze
towards the east nothing that wants to please
our needy minds as this brief cold must fail
the warmth return before our hopes turn stale
and just in time our anger turn to ease
but in the night some matters are too deep
for ordinary dreams and break my rest
to let me know that there is no mistake
relief shall not be granted by kind sleep
the warmth of bed is not a comfy nest
but there are worse fates than coming awake

such clarity in morning sky
a world of promise showing green
with purple buds beyond the screen

no chance today the earth will dry
while we are caught in the machine
such clarity in morning sky

will soon be past the time goes by
swiftly to conquer the serene
leaving as record of the scene
such clarity in morning sky

there's reason for our silence at your boast
of honours gained but we would never mock
the complex manner in which you take stock
of those who might give unto you the most
value for effort there's certainly no ghost
of a chance that our sharpest words would  rock
your placid mind nor ever serve to shock
your foolish heart that is why you are toast
our hopes are otherwise for you to learn
new meanings in the light and make it plain
that you have understood the open word
of those who do far more than simply yearn
for what has been who go far past their pain
into the laughing world of the absurd

name after name recorded on the wall
a sombre history of the long crime
against us all now fading into time
made by those giants who to us seem small
through urgent years when little could appal
our fervent thoughts when worlds were at their prime
(so we believed) yet we feared the dark slime
that seemed to lurk awaiting our long fall
now it’s the turn of those who would proclaim
a better day and shout it very loud
so even the ancestors could rejoice
but we who are uncertain of our flame
no longer urgent and no more as proud
are not so eager to exalt our voice

we know each mountain has to have a name
to fix in place what's true to foot and eye
allow for thought lest history go by
announcing that our hearts and tongues were lame
and silent that's the nature of this game
we label both the rock and butterfly
put signs in mobile water and still sky
so that the world entire is ours to frame
some other choice we might have to behold
a universe and let it go its way
without harsh imprint of the human touch
still we think ourselves noble brave and bold
eager to go forth and extend our sway
not caring in the  end we do too much

nothing we have is greater than this gift
of light in motion on the eastern wall
midafternoon the moments seem to crawl
the music flows and mind appears to drift
from work to sleep always an easy shift
you're tired and your thought's not on the ball
there is no duty and no one will call
no need for passion nor any for thrift
listen the song begins and it is clear
coming a distance and gentle in tone
so many voices urging you to rest
with magic now upon the summer air
announcing that you will not be alone
giving the day that extra bit of zest

crescent moon sharp upon the plate of sky
one hour before the lazy winter sun
signal that my long day is well begun
with clarity that shows the air is dry
and cold at this still moment no birds fly
while urgent humans have the need to run
up the dark street for health instead of fun
as if the end was one they could defy
out to the world we go each blessed day
to find our pain and reach another dark
of calm oblivion and short time of rest
all the time knowing that we've lost our way
been baffled and come short of the true mark
in our misunderstanding of the test

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

if asked what happened and there's no reply
that can be safely given that is true
do not evade the words that stick like glue
on your mouth's roof and just refuse to fly
where you most want them there's a reason why
your tongue's not obedient why you might rue
that former ease of discourse when askew
the complex facts make it so hard to lie
not now nor ever will the monster wait
to let you finish but will swiftly pounce
upon your weakest utterance and yell
that here's false coin pretending noble state
worth less than nothing for each ****** ounce
you hear this all as clear as the noon bell

where no salvation comes from a dead lord
we're cast adrift and there's no guiding star
no symbol serves to act as luminar
and we have taken a strange one aboard
as sign and seal in these realms unexplored
of all our dangers yet we're not so far
beyond the norms of everyday devoir
but have paid more than mortals can afford
we asked for honesty and got hard stone
straight in the face nothing could be so plain
but to push onward is the single choice
that folk of honour have bred in the bone
regardless of the threat of lash and chain
or whether the old villains will rejoice

no evidence the world is bent in shape
a bluish globe with wooly white of cloud
the mountains form a contrast sharp and proud
against the sea we note the golden cape
while in the sky dark birds seem to escape
the planetary force while winds are loud
above the foam and yet we are uncowed
though eyes are open and all mouths agape
there is a reason we have reached this place
and taken stock at the appropriate time
for our authority to be compelled
into new channels and a different space
with better thought and clearer paradigm
now that the party’s over and trial’s held

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

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