My soup will beat any Michelin meal
Maybe mine is much more real
Though there's nothing in the bowl
it tastes so good
and every thing is understood
My favourite meal is onion soup
Every day I dine on ultimate truth
I eat my layers of onion one by one
I'm so happy when I get to the middle one
Sipping onion soup with my inner eye
What a wonderful taste, My Oh My!
When there's nothing to eat
nothing to chew
it's time to digest
There's nothing to do

It's a famous day, they say
And we  should be afraid
of knife crime in Rome
and closer to home

In the Indian Ocean
Watch out if it rains
Because you may never
Be seen again

On the Great Plains
The was so much snow
That hundreds died
They had nowhere to go

To escape from the wind
And from the cold
They never lived
Long enough to be old

The Tsar abdicated
On this day
The Bolsheviks began
To have their way

We need to take care
every lass and lad
It's not just in Rome
This day may be bad

And if Maggie is drinking
a coffee nearby
Watch out as the storm
Passes you by

Common Land
always owned
by people or a company
Seems a strange idea to me
We can walk and talk
out there
And sheep can graze
everywhere
But you cannot camp
on common land
unless you’re covered up
in wool
or big and brave
like John Bull

We rage at the clouds passing us by
Flashes of lightning catching our eye
Sorrow sprays down wetting our world
Both of us know what we see is absurd

This terrible storm keeps pretending to stay
Solid as stone it won’t go away
but both of us know the invisible truth
This is the way we play in youth

As shadows take shape in the space between
I don’t see you, you don’t see me
We dance with ghosts, their names on our cards
How many more will break our hearts

We smiled as we stared into the sun
on occasional days when we put down our guns
I remember our flashes of laughter and joy
when friends held hands like a girl and a boy

We wonder what it is
that catches the eye
or captures the mind
as words go by
jumping off the page
with ease
like energetic fleas
or like a castle
appearing in the mist
We wonder what it is

Our inner eye
will not see
any thing
outside our mind
when we take away
the layers of our onion
one by one

What do we hold?
A hair in our hand
as we stare
into empty space
with our featureless face
or inner eye
will not see
any thing
outside our mind

The home of his skull is in Rome
His blood's in a vial in Dublin
It's the day of this lover's last breath
the day of his date with death

Love is the name of his game
They play it all over the world
Everyone knows his name
every single boy and girl

I will wear her name on my sleeve
She'll receive all my attention
I'll tell her I'll never leave
We'll keep this love convention