The crooked picture in the room without a door,
Is a jar to my settled thoughts.
Things upon which we dwell in vain,
Maintain the opaque wonder of life's baseless advantage,

Your hold upon my waking mind,
Testament to this fretful musing,
But all the while we strain to know -we hope we do not see,
For our solace lurks in that some things remain a mystery.

One more second til I leave the present far behind,
One step until I stand in future's place.
Again tomorrow is but only one more day away,
When Then and Now shall merge in their embrace.

The clock ticks on without a care; never looking back,
Its optimistic rhythm fills the room.
No lament of history shall alter future's shape,
For now is just an echo far too soon.

It was that time of year again,
When cold winds came to call and bite fingers,
And stiffen air and water underfoot,
Turning the traveller’s weary trudge into a muffled creak.
Trees, stark and bare, stand with arms unburdened for the season,
Held forth in yearning for a friend to perch for company,
Looking, for all the world, like cracks in winter’s window.

It was that time of year again,
When smoke snaked from the chimneys of lonely cottages,
Strewn, carelessly along windy lanes, covered in nature’s blanket,
All colours bled to white; a canvass clear and clean,
For hands and feet to leave their mark; proof of life in the bitter blank.
Bells from yonder chapel call believers to their faith, but faith was lost,
When my love, abandoned to the cold a year ago, died a frozen death.

And now it was that time of year again

For shame, I did not give myself away,
Though I did burn to bring her unto me,
I'm set to howl by night and rue the day.

My countenance had nothing good to say,
No brave emotion vying to break free,
For shame I did not give myself away.

Real life becomes more fickle than a play,
I stumble in the dark, I cannot see,
I'm set to howl by night and rue the day.

Dismiss me not as conceited, I pray,
Do not let silence be our legacy,
For shame I did not give myself away.

I yearn for her, yet keep it here at bay,
In order I may write my tragedy,
I'm set to howl by night and rue the day.

That she ignore it all and choose to stay,
Would surely constitute a lunacy,
For shame I did not give myself away,
I'm set to howl by night and rue the day.

The future and the present sit,
Like magpies in a tree,
Reminding you how bad you’ve been,
And how bad you still might be.

I wish I had not seen them there,
Something else had held my gaze.
So now I would not have to worry,
How I spend my days.

But I see you and I see her,
And the air is strangely filled,
With the knowledge that at any moment,
I could end up killed.

I love her but I want you.
Exciting, frightening, cruel,
I love the pain I feel right now,
I’m danger’s dancing fool.

The floor is cracking round my feet,
Like ice about to break,
And I will fall and curse the risks
That lovers always take.

Bring me back and tell me that you were joking when you said,
That all the things we felt for one another are now dead.
The truth is somewhat harsher though, I'm having to admit,
Your loving never lived for me. That's right now isn't it?

So now I look like just another stranger on the street,
And not the man who promised you the earth beneath your feet.

The atmosphere lately was a signal loud and clear,
The frostiness between us, more than just the time of year.
The food of love's gone rotten and everything is wrong,
When you can't even bring yourself to sing our favourite song.

The quake has undermined us both, I can feel the magma heat,
How can I offer now to you, the earth beneath your feet?

Roses are red; violets are blue,
This is the kind of thing I said to you.
Roses are dying; violets are dead,
I can’t forget all of the things that YOU said.

Suppose all the crying’s ‘cause the pilot has fled,
Tears level buildings, much less than I’ve shed.
Moses was right; violence is wrong,
Pray for me and hope that the tablets are strong.

Repose in my bed whilst millions lie too,
Hoods cover falsely; only one north is true.
Violins are playing: losers are bled,
Carrion on, whilst to crows they are fed.

Silence is golden, like the gun at my head,
Bullets are always so easily lead.
Blue leads to anger; red is the mist,
If only I’d known all of this when we kissed.

Roses aren’t ready, away violets blew
I really can’t say that I know what I knew.