It's just another night when the lights are bright
and the knights ride slowly with the stream
with the steam rising ragged in the cold evening air
and I swear they were laughing at me
being there.

But I was there and I did see
the history of old
strutting boldly down my street
going off to meet
that appointment to keep
back in 1642
with Cromwell and his madcap crew.

Where,
when the Crown lay heavy on the head
and the King had fled
an empty bed
a viper's nest
and no rest for the wicked or the Royal.
Those loyal did their best
but his head came off quite cleanly
obscenely
some might say
other's remarked,
'he'd has his day'

And as another night fades into obscurity
trapped between youth and maturity
no longer able to see the words that were penned
I look on
and long for
the day to end.