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

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

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

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

the rain is over and sad clouds have passed
beyond the mountain to the hidden sea
where all our stillness has its time to be
acknowledged understood measured at last
but we the analysts are yet aghast
at all the pain of those who did not flee
the ultimate temptation that we see
in the hard present that is never past
obey the rules and that way you get by
the lesson taught almost from time of birth
is not sufficient to persuade the wise
they must ignore the message in each eye
the ruddy signal that comes down to earth
and dissipates the impact of old lies

if there are ways to measure all the tale
in years of story how the shapes are made
without an edge of humour being frayed
by passing breeze or rough attacking gale
you'd say that we must in this wise assail
the aged creators of the human braid
for all the crimes of their despairing trade
before we mark their effort with a fail
no truths have been discovered by our kind
without an effort to disturb the soil
uproot the weeds and plant a better seed
so that the newer products of keen mind
emergent in the end from bitter toil
can match the urge exactly to the deed

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

so much is lost inside the space of dark
where what we see and hear is felt so hard
that when we tear or find the door is barred
to every vision and without a mark
we turn to go we hasten to embark
on one more journey while you stand on guard
with eyes close watching on the final yard
as all our choices now have come down stark
no names are mentioned in the frozen place
where all are sorted for the last short trip
out to oblivion yet there's a chance
that these sad agents of the human race
may for a moment get themselves a grip
so joining in the finest kind of dance

so much to do but go lie in the sun
and watch the clouds observe each changing shape
while looking upward with your mouth agape
allow the world to go by on the run
there are so many tasks that must be done
but not today there's time for one escape
from sordid duty take some rest and drape
your body on the bench just have some fun
soon you'll encounter the familiar task
hear the old words and even older lies
plunge back into the service of the known
to answer all the questions that they ask
hope to awaken light behind fresh eyes
and heal the causes of the longest groan

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

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

in all our doings there’s a rule we make
about the bounds beyond which we won’t go
those limits of the matters we may know
or of the facts in which we may partake
like the good flints that sharpen when they flake
or that swift stream with hidden deeper flow
beneath the mountain with the secret glow
all of the places that we can’t forsake
within each heart are truths that none may speak
yet in our song they’re vibrant in their call
to warm the spirit and release the mind
allowing us the harmony to seek
beyond the power of the strong and tall
right into where the force of love must bind

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

the garden’s keeper is the one who knows
the time of fruiting and the ways of light
the meanings of the lily and the rose

to all who pause to watch as each plant grows
in its true place as firm hands set it right
the garden's keeper is the one who knows

when to stay calm and just when to disclose
the secret word that guards from every blight
the meanings of the lily and the rose

that in their beds do far more than repose
for the pure delectation of our sight
the garden's keeper is the one who knows

the proper manner of setting the rows
to mimic motion and to arrest flight
the meanings of the lily and the rose

are not in words still less in strikes and blows
against the passage that leads into night
the garden's keeper is the one who knows
the meanings of the lily and the rose

the ones who guide have not seen all the map
but are so confident in their deep sense
of this old world that their most sharp intense
demand does not presage some sort of trap
and yet we fall the pain comes in a slap
we have been fooled there's no means of pretense
the shock is sudden and the hurt immense
and it will take a whole life to unwrap
the meaning that is hidden in the deep
caverns of time in which we now must hide
both pain and fortune still there is a while
between the losses and the hope we keep
where salves exist for both respect and pride
and in that space the memory of a smile

we heard a clear message loud as a gun
roll from the speaker who stood above
bright as a sovereign in the setting sun

there’s what we have asked for much has been done
the structure is falling just one more shove
we heard a clear message loud as a gun

and we are not startled though it may stun
having already seen fist in the glove
bright as a sovereign in the setting sun

pleasant words told us of miles left to run
with hearts of a lion and souls of a dove
we heard a clear message loud as a gun

out of the vision the teller had spun
came more hope than any of us had thought of
bright as a sovereign in the setting sun

the story of all that was worth being won
the magic and beauty of our common love
we heard a clear message loud as a gun
bright as a sovereign in the setting sun

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

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

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

the name is wrong the memory still right
of the grey trees beside the drystone wall
fruiting in summer so lush in recall
and seen so clearly in approaching night
as we looked up to see the birds in flight
the setting sun that gorgeous red ball
as into the green sea it seemed to fall
made of it one stark blessing of a sight
we cannot know what goods may come to pass
on this hard journey up and down the hill
but dare not bid a single minute stay
yet what we see reflected in the glass
is not the force either of wit or will
but all the markings of the normal way

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

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

what we saw was the mountain not the road
and so mistook the task and were dismayed
but still plugged onward though we were afraid
each of us frightened bearing a great load
of doubt and sorrow though it might explode
the peak above us could only persuade
our simple hearts that we were half decayed
yet we  walked on with hope our one sharp goad
so what we did was make it the whole way
not without pause and not without much pain
since stubborn hearts refused all other choice
to look from summit at a brighter day
with backs all straightened once relieved of strain
and spirits freed to sing and to rejoice

we did not know all that the words have said
in the dead past and what was on the wall
vivid in sunlight is now past recall
but not all meanings dwell amongst the dead
waiting for better times and less cold dread
to illustrate the human rise and fall
of hearts that circulate and do not stall
but pain and narrowness stay in the head
that was a different and a better mind
possessed by those who sought to build our hope
in concrete forms and who not thinking stealth
in any way a virtue felt the kind
were more equipped for climbing the long *****
towards a place where all would share the wealth

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

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

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

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

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

no one recalls the red bird's haunting song
in dead of winter but it marks the spring
the creature's small and yet its voice is strong

what we discover when we fall among
the hordes who struggle to avoid the sting
(no one recalls the red bird's haunting song

but has a sense that they are drawn along
into the silence) is the sharp high ring
the creature's small and yet its voice is strong

enough to to let  us know that we belong
in this strange place where all our hopes may cling
no one recalls the red bird's haunting song

and yet when choruses turn to a throng
we want so urgently our hearts to fling
the creature's small  and yet its voice is strong

enough for us to know it is not wrong
to feel its force and want ourselves to sing
no one recalls the red bird's haunting song
the creature's small and yet its voice is strong

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

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

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

when all the wars have ended we're bereft
of home and hope but have not yet been killed
so we construct a life from what is left

the new beginnings truly have no heft
all springs of old revival had been stilled
when all the wars have ended we're bereft

pained by misfortunes by our failures cleft
none can be certain of the truly willed
so we construct a life from what is left

of the old world knowing full well the deft
conversion to the new won't be distilled
when all the wars have ended we're bereft

of wisdom but we fear no further theft
our knowledge and our sorrow both fulfilled
so we construct a life from what is left

while in the dust the serpent and the eft
conduct their searches we must turn to build
when all the wars have ended we're bereft
so we construct a life from what is left

when we are lost in rapture at the sight
of the spring flowers at last fully blown
we are then healed down to the very bone
of the last vestiges of winter's blight
so too when we have passed beyond the night
into another domain of the known
where once again we cease to be alone
we can be certain that the world is right
the simple magics are the ones most true
not to feel terror at the change of time
yet to be awed that life returns again
in all those places that the sun makes new
so we rejoice in the slow upward climb
and let our bodies cast away their pain

vision persists in memory of the eye
where moving image still seems full and bright
though many hopes have faded into night
and all is strange now under a new sky
and other stars still hearts demand to fly
into the realms of true and honest light
where none will question when we reach the height
nor will each word be stifled by the lie
we ask the dragon for one drop of blood
to change the order of things now well known
into fresh truths and we restring the lyre
to have our songs resound above the mud
into that air where one bird soars alone
reaching towards the source of light and fire

in the beginning words are what we make
to fill the spaces that fall in between
the known and human and the dark unseen
void that is home to dragon and to snake
that place of horror where the old gods wake
to force us all to say just what we mean
or else keep silence in that last unclean
home of our hopes there's no room for mistake
what we have found is that the ends are true
but all the roads that take us up deny
the honest vista that could salve the soul
permit clean breath or show one perfect clue
enough for even you to crush the lie
and so arrive at the long-wanted goal

from shadow into shadow there's no need
to measure honour nor to mete out pain
through the sad morning for each must abstain
from that fierce propaganda of the deed
which was by action of straight force decreed
since all the nature of this world's made plain
and we learn both the cure and the heart's bane
what makes us whole and what will make us bleed
truth does not give the agent much real choice
you get to act since there's nowhere to rest
this side of death that is the one sure fact
instead you have to give justice a voice
face the rough world and submit to the test
just hoping to get all the way intact

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

no matter what we say we do not feel
the pain of others right inside each heart
instead we wait the turning of the wheel

for one more challenge for the last appeal
which was presaged right at the very start
no matter what we say we do not feel

our hopes and urges have been brought to heel
and the last hero laid upon a cart
instead we wait the turning of the wheel

to see the message and to take our meal
in comfort all who come here will depart
no matter what we say we do not feel

we will start forward and then we will reel
back down in sign that we have lacked the art
instead we wait the turning of the wheel

for what is good the last hard spring of steel
yet still the while some fool will strain to ****
no matter what we say we do not feel
instead we wait the turning of the wheel

to those who wait there is no better name
in the wide oceans for the coming wild
giving us hope when all we had was shame

our fathers left us heritage of blame
although their rule was temperate and mild
to those who wait there is no better name

except perhaps the trumpet cry of fame
though that by wise folk is sometimes reviled
giving us hope when all we had was shame

the thought of danger puts us in the frame
yet for our good we left the hearth exiled
to those who wait there is no better name

for hero but we find the story lame
and punish those we thought might just have smiled
giving us hope when all we had was shame

since now we learn the whole thing is a game
and the best player no more than a child
to those who wait there is no better name
giving us hope when all we had was shame

our voices echo silence is the crime
we need the warm assurance of sweet sound
for all our urgency fears empty time

so much is caught between the fall and climb
but haste is needed to bring things around
our voices echo silence is the crime

for which we will be punished now the chime
of teachers' bell is something most profound
for all our urgency fears empty time

which must be filled with order the sublime
decree of trust in which we seek for ground
our voices echo silence is the crime

and we're so guilty yet we have to prime
the rule of virtues so they might abound
for all our urgency fears empty time

while hope for magic is expressed in rhyme
which we desire to ring and to resound
our voices echo silence is the crime
for all our urgency fears empty time

there are no magic secrets in the mud
beneath our feet but worlds have passed away
while it was formed and our own great display
marks just a stage in passing drought and flood
each one of us from hero down to dud
knows that we have so little time to stay
and yet seem hasty to fritter our day
in silly matters that just waste our blood
time was we might have made some sort of stand
against the forces that push down so hard
to turn our efforts into so much smoke
but we are left with only a weak hand
remaining on what seems the final yard
and sense enough to understand the joke

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

we hit the wall and then the world goes down
into the dark and nothing good returns
for all we’ve done what once was gold is brown

as winter comes like satan into town
all minds are numb just as the river churns
we hit the wall and then the world goes down

a sad destruction but no one will frown
believing that we get what the thief earns
for all we’ve done what once was gold is brown

now skies are darker than a priestly gown
for what one makes the other overturns
we hit the wall and then the world goes down

so no one stands for hope or for renown
but gets instead just what the ******* earns
for all we’ve done what once was gold is brown

this is the truth where hero becomes clown
you have to flee before the city burns
we hit the wall and then the world goes down
for all we’ve done what once was gold is brown

today my thoughts are focused on the task
that is to come the duty that must be
not just for us but for what we agree
must lie behind the smile upon the mask
up we must get then while yet others bask
in remnant sunshine by the still-warm sea
no one is left upon a bended knee
to find a purpose you must simply ask
if scripture says a slave is due to serve
and must not raise his head above the rest
that's an obscenity and shall not stand
each has to get the honour they deserve
find out the hard way passage of the test
and win the garland with their own hard hand

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

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

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

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

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

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

now tell me that this moment is no lie
we mean to go one just as we began
to measure all the world within one eye

so that this magic will not make you cry
allow each of us to fulfill the plan
now tell me that this moment is no lie

since you have gained the trust and will not cry
for any reason there's a way to span
to measure all the world within one eye

we have been gifted with this will to try
for other countries where there is no ban
now tell me that this moment is no lie

that honour rises in the summer sky
with all the goodliness that we may scan
to measure all the world within one eye

in order that each heart may learn to fly
beyond the places where our feet first ran
now tell me that this moment is no lie
to measure all the world within one eye

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