The rainbow fell into the consommé,
the night turned the day and the
cards went my way
it was normal some say in
the madhouse

and then there was work
the foibles, the quirks
the bright sparks
the gormless
the sharks

and while Hawkin's talking of quarks
and quasars
all I get
is quizzical, looks from the
bar staff and waiters.

It's no wonder the soup's getting cold
and less wondering why
because it all seems so old
or could be it's
possibly me.

backwards to front and off on the hunt
for the unicorn

If you believe that they're real
then they're real
but
only the mad stop in Potsdam

she offers me tea and temperance
and in an attitude of complete
indifference
I down one more for the road,

.. and I thought they were smoking, on drugs or just joking when they  were speaking to me

but the blue clouds lingered there,
I had to tear myself away from the balance wheel to feel anything

the tune of time whistled by me
I started singing along
out through the wind tunnel and into the storm.

Form 4 C
back in the classroom and there's a set square on the table
teacher's not able to control me
and I am the truant again

and I thought it normal
the
Informal education

It was prostitution on a grand scale
we were for sale to the future and backed up against the past

But fast and foolhardy I hardly had chance to win at the pool hall before school came to catch me

The balance wheel pivots on the tip of a pin
if I turn and spin or smoke a joint I can almost see the point of it

Just joking
I can't see
nothing but
The
Bogeymen.

The culture call
let standards fall
we'll flag them up as mad.

I always was what I was not and not what I could be
I never saw destruction without that hint of glee,
I'm bad.

to gain respect one must expect
to do things properly,
by the book not
by hook or crook
or so
the tutor said to me.

But I was never meant to be
a guiding star or
a celebrity
not even sure if I was meant to be
me
but who is?

Sitting here with me
I tear apart
Push together
Build and destroy
Pain and pleasure
Because I can't stand it either way

Chain me down
Cut it out
My mind is round
Try to make it square

To you
It's not fair

Recoil back into the belly
Of this grief
Large. Obese. Heavy.
Cut all the fragile strings
Watch colorful kites fly away
Imagine their life in the clouds
Far away.

Take the swarm of pixels
The sting
Stretch out and look up
Let them cover
Hover
Run
see one last kite tail
Disappear behind the sun

There's a few of the old crowd still meet up at Christmas and
each raise a glass to the past and good friends.

The crowd's thinning out now, but I'm thinking out loud now
it's still quite a sizeable group
(If you don't count so well )

We reminisce about that and the other and
it's this that makes the bond stronger

I suppose the longer we go on the few will become less

there are flywheels in the abattoir
and they spin to a six string guitar
the piano plays on down in Abilene to the tunes of a cowboy and his praire dream.

It's all alike or a bit the same
never knowing if one had been
sane what the outcome would have been.

Over the snow caps
antlers below
I see
moose on the go.

A light aircraft in shafts of sunlight
musk on the morning breeze.

These are the signatures of wilderness
less than is more than at times

and there are times of freedom,
of *******,
I think that we need them
to
balance things out.