Chaucer was that gentle parfett knight.
Travelling as he went on his pilgrimage
Like a beautifully medievel Kerouac
With a bunch of others on their progress
Telling tales as they went on the holy journey
To that place of worship on the road to poetry
Nothings deep everything is scenery an’ heraldry
Lovely on its pilgrimage to Canterbury
Then some silver stuff takes you on to genius
Written by that bad bad bald guy
In that age of written geniuses
When everything went Einstein in colour
Every relative had an absolute poet
Dreaming of theatres in the round
And other kinds of geometric fashions
For strutting the stuff of the written culture
Beggars were borrowed and the acting got better
Dressed for dying beautifully to a paying audience
Things were on the up when written downtown
Across the boards and curtained signs saying exit
Selling stuff in the aisles to increase the margins
And other kinds of existentially profitable existences
For the written word and the acting sin tax
Made a buck or two worth turning up for
In the bear pit of the wooden O’s auditorium.
Then the lights went out in a very puritan fashion
Of iron buckles on high and mighty hats
Inside heavy shoes were emptier soles
Nailed art to the boards in crucifying style
Paradise was lost but that light still shone
In those dark and dismal times of religion
Where even god was proclaimed a heretic
For daring to be one of life’s creative souls
With an occasional very flashy revelation
Flasing the light and other stuff so fantastically
Behind the shed in the basement of the other Eden
Johnnie was mixing up the stuff from the garden
Still tripping the light show quite fantastic
Transforming colour from darker spaces
That kept the puritans in their prurient places
A voice alone inside the high hat revolution
Didn’t quite do everything all write on the night
Because he thought about it twice in the daytime
Thinking about is okay but seeing it is better
A tale of genius smothered by intellectuality
Was wee Alexander’s thoughtful contribution
Butterflies and wheels and other kinds of deals
Set the scene for the future enlightenment
In the shape of ghosts to haunt eternity
With a grain of sand and a redder rose
An’ other stuff both wonderful and dangerous
Its appeal was so magically tremendous
It remains today to haunts us all so beautifully
In shapes that become everything around us
The surrounding beauty is so alchemical
Transforming water into wine and flowing poetry
The miracle of pouring words transforms us
From passengers to charioteers of fire
On the battlefield for a worlds tomorrow
Where our sweetest songs still remain
Our tears of joy from fleeing pain
Played upon the fields of destruction
Where yesterday will never be tomorrow
Unwritten the sun sings it on the morn
Because tomorrow wants to be here
It’s there on the rise before our very eyes
And nothing’s stopping it except ourselves
The poets wrote it so long ago
And now’s a better time than most to sing it
All together now, ‘the future can be beautiful’