There's a Universe alive inside us all,
atoms we could never count,
stars that never fall.
An energy that's burning in my heart,
the force of which can heal my soul,
or tear me apart.

The light that my eyes filter everyday,
the warmth brought from a dying Sun,
so many million miles away.
It shines and burns and guides me through the years
never looking for a thing,
always there to dry the tears.
And still I cannot look her in the eye,
afraid that I might melt away
and she might say goodbye.
So I'll just sit and think of her tonight,
thank her when tomorrow comes
thank her when its bright.
I'll just lie and dream of her tonight
thank her when tomorrow comes,
thank her for the light.

He nervously played with the gun in his hand,
as the flashing images kidnapped his broken thoughts.
The way the never ending waves seem to kidnap the shore.
Again and again and again.................
There were times when it wasn't so bad
he reasoned to himself.
Days in his memory that seemed to belong to someone else now.
Someone who could smile who could laugh.
Over and over and over...................

But that fool was dead, he ****** it away.
That feeling inside he chose to betray.
So what for him now.
Alone with the night.
The pain and the guilt,
and all that's not right.
A man without hope, without maybe guts?
What for the meek man,
who they say is nuts.

Who wants a meek man that they just cant trust?





Over and over and over...................

Feeling faint a lonely saint
makes his way to heaven.
At the bus-stop on his own,
waits for the number 7.

And as the minutes pass away
he thinks about his final day,
when the bus comes drawing near,
in his eye there rests a tear.
He wonders has his work been done,
was his life a battle won.
Shall it be his final time?,
is this soul truly divine?

Now the bus is heading west,
the saint will sleep, its time to rest.
And as the sun begins to set,
there's nothing that this saint regrets

A love bound by the centuries,
is stirring on the lawn.
Scarlet, Crimson, Red and Green,
awoken with the dawn.

The passion in the roses,
that brings the beauty through.
Is a passion we should try to find,
inside me and you..

The sunlight in the morning,
that brings a brand new day.
Is something that we can embrace
if we try to find a way.

The passion in the roses
that brings the beauty through
Is a passion we should try to find
inside me and you..

And when the Sun is falling,
lower in the blood red sky.
The thorns you once had in your side,
are like a crown you wear with pride.

The passion in the roses,
that brings the beauty through.
Is a passion we should try to find
inside me and you..

The passion in the roses
and all thats truely true.
That Passion that was always there
is inside me and you.

Down by the river,
not far along there,
lies the weir,
round stones,
a hope and a care.
Down by the Pikehole
where deep water lies.
The sun breaks the trees
where the fisherman ties.
Flies of all colour.
Magenta and green.
Down in the meadows
where he's never seen.

There was a place he would go
to be on his own,
to filter the light,
to learn and to grow.

A place where it stopped,
where no boats would rock,
where time is not measured,
no need for a clock.

As long as it took
would he sit and he'd wait
among all the silence,
awaiting his faith.

In search of some answers,
in search of some hope,
he grew and he found,
a new way to cope.

Despite all the madness.
and **** all the pain.
Once he is there.
His place will remain.

The moon was in the sky and the sun was long since dead,
when the shrew said to the rabbit, "I don't think its time for bed."
So they garnered all their energy and set themselves a route,
along the way with natures sway,
went searching for the truth.
They happened upon the lights of life and at a river drank.
But when they heard the hunters call,
their hearts they quickly sank.
It sounded like the last call to a drunkard at the bar,
as the shrew said to the rabbit, " do you think we've come to far."
The lights went out around them,
they just sat and laughed in turns.
Even though the fear was there,
they had remembered what was learned.
Amongst the trees and barley fields and rivers that run free.
For this is where they grew to learn,
that what will be will be.

That chill is in the air again.
****, its like standing in the frozen-food aisle
looking for something cheap to eat.
Gnawing at you in the morning rush,
looking for that vacant seat.
On crowded buses that enter cities.
Where the rat-race ebbs and flows
As it carries vacant faces that sit rushing
to and fro.
Lost to themselves and to a life
that just seems out of reach.
Reading headlines about men who know,
who really shouldn't preach.
Overloaded with whats right and wrong,
they carry weary frames.
I  wonder will they ever see?
This rat-race is a game!

The Watchmen, lonely, watching time,
upon freezing beds,
the cold, the wet, the dead,
along the River Rhine.

Flares,illuminate the sky,
young soldiers, writing letters home,
some they start to cry.
Wishing they knew why,
along the River rhine.

Those treasured tear stained letters.
A young souls last goodbye,
a flare shines in the sky.
Wishing they knew why,
Upon the River Rhine.

In the safety of the shade.
The shadow seekers plot their way.
Thread their course, a careful road.
Hiding from the truths they own.
In the darkness, where they rest,
ruffled feathers in the nest.
Afraid to fly
Afraid to soar,
relying on what shun before.
The light that graced,
that first sweet day.
The light that faded, as they aged.
Dulled by structures on the road,
built by men, to be sold.
In their shadows,
now they live,
living off the crumbs they give.
In the shadows,
in the shade.
The shadow seekers find a way.

Up on the hill the fire roars,
hisses and spits out sparks that reach to the skies.
Dancing away from the flames like souls from a battlefield.
One by one by one they fly.

Amongst all the chaos there's someone.
Sitting back from the heckling crowd.
A man who fears no man or evil
nor any a soul in the clouds.
His reasons long tempered by living.
Long days with the sickle and plough.
If it wasn't for hard work forgiving.
He wonders if he'd be here now.

There’s sometimes resonance
in words and sounds that linger.
That carry an energy, so deep, that never sleeps.
Thoughts that never try to turn asunder,
are thoughts, you wish would vanish in the wind.
Heading west to find a destination,
a ticket to some long forgotten town.
A life, that led you to this desperation,
is the only life that’s gonna drag you down.

The whispering wind that would not rescind,
spoke nothing of love,
nor mutter of sin.
To strong to be breezy, but never a gale.
The whispering wind is sailing away.
Out on a wave with moonlight above,
the whispering wind spoke nothing of love.
No chatter of joy,
nor mutter of pain.
The whispering wind has nothing to gain

This old soul brought back to learn,
to live with joy,
to live with pain.
This old soul's alone again.

Seeking out the light in shadows,
cast over from the old divide.
Swallowed in waves of emotion,
castaway among'st the tide.
Ego bashed, within an inch,
within a moment of each life.
This old soul and new beginnings,
reaching for the other side.

There's poetry in everything,
the tree's outside my window,
the sombre Sunday view.

There's motion running through the leaves
and everything that I conceive,
everything inside my mind
plays fast forward
then rewind.

The light that grace's my dark room
is something fresh
something new.
Sitting looking at the road
early morning,
warming cold.
Warming thoughts inside my head,
maybe I should be in bed,
dreaming of some place to shine,
but then I wake and realize,
all that's real
all that's mine.
The worries and the joys of life,
those worries aren't hard to find.

Turbulent skies
the dragonflies
can't find their wings tonight.
Thunder claps
then lightning strikes
as the gypsies start to fight.
The blood spilt on the sawdust floor,
soaks it up, as they want more.
Half the crowd all soaked in porter,
another lamb is for the slaughter.
Shots reign down upon his head,
his legs won't buckle, a stubborn mule.
Better to live, than to be dead,
the last words of a dying fool.
And as the pride of one is lost
another clan will count the cost.
Until they meet again sometime.
Underneath turbulent skies.

Sunday Mass, I'll take a pass
and **** it up amongst the leaves.
I'll ask a fellow parishioner,
all he knows before he leaves.
Find out, "who read the gospel?"
The readings, telling right from wrong.
I'll find a worthy tale to tell,
and all the hymns and all the songs.
Those songs about salvation,
(salivating for the public house),
I'll burn a candle in my mind
then dampen it, with all my doubt.
Then I'll seek out knowledge,
someone with something real to say.
I'll wonder bout those Gospels,
and everything they fail to say.


.

A sweet whisper in my ear
melts away the ice
the silly fears.
Melt me with that whisper in my ear.
That sweet song that we sing
thaws the winters cold
it brings the spring.
Bring that sweet song, softly to my ear.
The way we dance
its chips away
the barriers that we both made
Baby can we dance the night away?
Underneath the street lights
with grace and hope
a world of dreams.
Baby will you hold me as we sway?
Baby can we dance the night away?

The Spirit Wolf he led the way
in all the mist and all the haze
through secret forests lost to man,
the valleys of forgotten days.
Upon the road a bear we met,
an old soul who could not forget,
salmon sweet and rivers clean,
he wondered was it just a dream.
His noble eyes, they told a tale
of how a greedy race can fail,
a creed that's blind to all they do,
looking for the holy grail.
He showed us a new route to follow,
through the meadows and the hollow,
the void that's there in every soul
always needs to turn to sorrow.

The one thing we don't need to borrow.

Worried!, those young hurried souls,
they seem to  hurry,
before they see.
Seem to focus,
on what's easy,
focus on a way to be.

Or is it, that their minds are trained
to feel a certain kinda pain?
I wonder bout their worries,
try to understand their ways.

Its like points upon a compass,
when no one seems to know the way.
An awkward situation,
when there's nothing that's worth to say.

But sometimes there's a navigator,
calling from within.
It's that old voice,
in the dark of night,
where you should begin.

Truth is truth,
and lies can't lie,
cause lies were made to fail.
Those lies you hide now deep within
are never gonna sail.

And so upon those Oceans,
filled with plastic,
and now lost to man.
Upon those lonely Oceans,
That's where our old love began.

Upon those lonely oceans,
Dear God,
I'm doing all I can.
Upon the truthful notions,
Lord I'm doing
all I can.

He lay there with a guilt,
that no child should fear,
for he couldn't remember her face.
He sat with his wishes
his thoughts and his fears,
suffering feelings, that no child should feel.
The warmth from her smile,
that loving embrace,
that left him that day, that went to that place.
The place they had told him
where sleeping souls lie.
That place he now hates.
Up there in the sky.