sleep  hides in dimmest corners of the night

refusing to reach out and hold us dear

for far too long our fears and pains seem bright



like scars of whiteness injuring the sight

bringing so many distant horrors near

sleep hides in dimmest corners of the night



while on each eye some terror will alight

so waking mind can slowly shred and tear

for far too long our fears and pains seem bright



thought after thought revolves upon harsh blight

and inner rack we’re thorough-cooked by fear

sleeps hides in dimmest corners of the night



options seem few and hope reduced to slight

expecting that the dawn might bring cool air

for far too long our fears and pains seem bright



yet there are answers left to turn times right

repairing rest while giving breath to spare

sleep hides in dimmest corners of the night

for far too long our fears and pains seem bright

a missionary aching to be done
with all the trappings of the muddy past
shed the sad history as a worm its cast
be new and happy in the springtime sun
we know who has this and there is not one
secure or guarded from the sullen blast
of deep-felt hatred striking at the last
signs of old story shouting out they've won
there are some means of easing the old ire
of turning rage back into wholesome ways
of decent living yet we watch each fail
as all our truths are cast into the fire
just so a new world can face different days
and there can be a better kind of tale

what meanings truth and justice had
we've understood and will not pass
that bill was paid at stalingrad

(not the first time) and we are glad
to see reflected in the glass
what meanings truth and justice had

in eyes that are forever sad
seeing the bones beneath the grass
that bill was paid at stalingrad

for generations good and bad
by that immense levée-en-masse
(what meanings truth and justice had)

so demos spoke and thus forbade
the foolish claims of herrenrass
that bill was paid at stalingrad

so many folk might think us mad
to speak of mankind as one class
what meanings truth and justice had
that bill was paid at stalingrad

across the gully is another place
a different world with silver roughbarked trees
where stubborn beasts resist you on their knees
while walls and fences leave a proper trace
for those bewildered nature shows her face
in complicated motions that each sees
in the raw colours and the harsh decrees
that come upon us with the morning's grace
so this is recollection of the sight
from high above broad river as the grey
of false dawn marks the ending of the night
but here and now the moment cannot stay
we've paid hard cash for all that we have lost
and got no credit for the hills we've crossed

no name will matter at the very last
when all the pains we wandered for are done
in the last drops we crave of pallid sun
and the dark bones we hate are being cast
we'll smile and nod knowing we were outclassed
by those we taught who passed us on the run
not knowing that the game was not in fun
and soon they too will fade into the past
all that we know is just a tiny bit
of the whole tale a mere partial story
which each is given for their proper role
enough to play with some essay at wit
although we all wish the full of glory
not one of us can grasp the very whole

For stale appearance I don't give a fig
since I won't see my friend for quite some while
but wit and humour always are in style
and I have grown to like this sort of gig.
Put on some hair, the deal is not so big
as you imagine. I do not revile
the belly laugh, nor yet the honest smile
since I am me beneath the longest wig.
In prose or verse the sentiment is true
that we're the grace that we have got to lend
to each occasion where the good may meet
to speak a while and give good peace its due
in wintertime. Still all fine things must end
and happy moments pass with foot too fleet.

the dark disaster broken by harsh light
patter of voices sound of running feet
these lives that ended they were not so sweet
that does not matter for we had no right
to trample these brief hopes in the hot night
ignoring the short cry of mi nu dweet
the blotless orders always seem so neat
not so the blood and ordure in our sight
the noble man no brute can't bear the blame
see how the sorrow weighs upon his face
adding it seems another dozen years
we will not think of yet another name
the one whose presence we can't seem to trace
who sums up all our terrors and our fears

the maples out in front are now in leaf
they're always late only the top is green
below they've budded with a reddish sheen
but all i know's the sight gives me relief
once more we're past the season of slow grief
and watch as down the street the youngsters preen
in repetition of an ancient scene
knowing the heat of summer won't be brief
what's left inside must still be given voice
to sing of what has been and what must come
that's honest truth the whole and not some part
since what we do is really not our choice
but what we must add to the human sum
out of our knowledge and by gentle art

you wake and read the message on your phone
which tells you something that is bitter cold
at edge of summer now you are not old
just middle-aged not in the best of tone
a little silly too inclined to moan
about the minor things yet not the gold
measure of what can now be truly told
you see the words a crab now eats her bone
the tale's been written on a rotting page
yet can be read by any human eye
we can't escape the poison nor the taint
nothing avails there is no use to rage
each comfortable answer is a lie
and yet she set the signal down in paint

call me a wimp and you will be a wreck
you stupid lad who tells tales out of school
just say the word i'll break your ******* neck

you seemed to think that nobody would check
the things you said that everything was cool
call me a wimp and you will be a wreck

you'll be destroyed naught left no single speck
and all they'll note is you were one more tool
just say the word i'll break your ******* neck

don't think i won't don't think i give a heck
for who you are or all the lies you drool
call me a wimp and you will be a wreck

so now you're silent now you hit the deck
full up with fear you've figured out the rule
just say the word i'll break your ******* neck

you have to understand that not a fleck
of pity will you get since you're the fool
call me a wimp and you will be a wreck
just say the word i'll break your ******* neck

those who have vanished those gone up the spout
the scarperers last season's best reaping
were our last bulwark against fear or doubt

so total silence follows on the shout
clamping down ******* laughter and weeping
those who have vanished those gone up the spout

in teaching us just what to do without
and what exactly is worth safe-keeping
were our last bulwark against fear or doubt

but since they're gone we lack all redoubt
no place to which we can hurry creeping
those who have vanished those gone up the spout

simply precede us on the journey out
message and method both so sweeping
were our last bulwark against fear or doubt

now in the midst of this inhuman drought
we fade into the darkness while sleeping
those who have vanished those gone up the spout
were our last bulwark against fear or doubt

hough aiming forward we are losing ground

hearts may be filled with hope but our hard fate

is to be weighed and valued pound by pound

as the remainders of a great estate

the counters' duty it is to collate

what goes to storage and what to the worm

what will be buried to build up the berm

and what parts of the fortune they might keep

those who are watching are the very firm

our place is taken and we have to sleep



so much of what is said is to confound

the ones whose task it is to count and rate

the complete measure within proper bound

they aren't allowed to lie nor to inflate

the tiny parcels into something great

but must agree the winner is the germ

that strikes the mighty hard as they might squirm

and into every corner seems to creep

it's certain victory we can't affirm

our place is taken and we have to sleep



we wanted to astonish and astound

win the reward of gold and silver plate

have banknotes piled up in a giant mound

cart off bright jewels in a well-made crate

these are not the conditions we instate

we find ourselves most rotten and infirm

unable now to generate a therm

nor over lowest bar ever to leap

our weakness any fool now could confirm

our place is taken and we have to sleep



prince you may rule us for a certain term

since none of us has power to reaffirm

just what we were nor what we had to keep

within our power nor underneath each derm

our place is taken and we have to sleep

it is so easy to drift down to sleep
when the weak body lacking all defence
is at a moment when matters are tense
just eager to collapse into the deep
comfort of the dark hardest thoughts will keep
until winter sun makes some vague pretense
at warming earth but we have little sense
of whether honest hearts may make the leap
into the morning now we have some hope
that better judgment will be after night
and waking eyes will look on clearer choice
that at the least each will know how to cope
in what will be a keener form of light
and in a place where each will have a voice

we miss the mark by blaming modern haste
for all the losses that the old declare
since time's the one thing that we cannot waste

why bother waiting when the one abased
will be revenged when none is left to care
we miss the mark by blaming modern taste

instead of noting that the old displaced
was most unkind and never was quite fair
since time's the one thing that we cannot waste

you ought to leave at once before the taste
of anger drives our guardians all spare
we miss  the mark by blaming modern taste

for those disasters that our kind have faced
the ***** magics came on unaware
since time's the one thing that we cannot waste

burning our feet showing our gems were paste
leaving behind only a haze in air
we miss the mark by blaming modern haste
since time's the one thing that we cannot waste

in what new name are honours to be read
by those who fall along the weary road
bearing the last and most unwanted load
of fear and horror no unblemished head
do we acknowledge all our limbs have bled
leaking the symbols of a hated code
while it was plain that nothing could corrode
either the cover or the weight of dread
but there's a message in the signal flame
as we who watch may come to understand
far past all bearing yet within our care
are those who know the truth is not a game
that all good matter comes within a hand
but must go free to rise up in the air

before we cut the cord there is some time
to know the places where all choice is plain
and there is neither complete loss or gain
nor any hiding underneath the grime
for anyone the world is in its prime
we find it easy to remove each stain
nor is it hard to to show or to explain
the value given to each song or chime
while each one waits to hear just how the day
will be reported by the wisest folk
we will not rush unseeing  to remark
upon the rules that bound all work or play
nor those we take to be some kind of joke
that leave  us gasping at return of dark

no resolution ever fell so flat
as this decree though most sincerely meant
to bring all to their senses and repent
their every crime laid out upon the mat
as subjects proper for our daily chat
those matters upon which no true consent
has been achieved and on which we were lent
not enough time and oh well that’s that
when we have signaled that the end is come
to all deception we receive no prize
but only grievances a mighty store
since at the last we find that no one’s dumb
who comes beneath the censure of our eyes
but each believes they truly know the score

my feet have known the streets each long hot mile
the greyish dust has sunk into each toe
there's not a corner that i did not know
but i have not been back there a long while
i've not forgotten places on the isle
where in my youth i used to have to go
in a warm time when life was soft and slow
and what concerned us most were form and style
so much recalled yet so much that must count
in a new age when time has outreached rope
so that we find our feet have travelled far
from where each started on that rural mount
in a bright year when everyone had hope
unto this time beneath a troubled star

a century ago the world began
in blood and pain the auguries were wild
so many things have changed in a short span

my father’s world the currents overran
there was no time for words or thoughts too mild
a century ago the world began

we have to choose which of the screens to scan
it is too easy to become beguiled
so many things have changed in a short span

and we are all entranced woman and man
by all the facts that overcome the child
a century ago the world began

two shots and then the faeces struck the fan
for all mankind none would be reconciled
so many things have changed in a short span

the light itself has been placed under ban
and all that once was purest been defiled
a century ago the world began
so many things have  changed in a short span

we always seem to leave there in the rain
not in light drizzle but a heavy pour
that catches us straightway we leave the door
yet we're back with no reason once again
to find our way through torrents to the plain
it seems too much and yet we ask for more
as if this were a torment we adore
the price of pleasure being this hard strain
the thunder speaks and we dare not respond
since all our fears are centred in that sound
when it is echoed by each traitor heart
revealing that we won't refuse the bond
and most afraid that hope will not rebound
because our hands and minds have lost the art

the thing's the same once you've told the story
putting the planet into normal mode
you've won power but never truly glory

you know it all is just transitory
each of us goes a short way on the road
the thing's the same once you've told the story

whether the ending's peaceful or gory
each must arrive at the one sole abode
you've won power but never truly glory

of no import whether whig or tory
for you the process is in no way slowed
the thing's the same once you've told the story

only message here's memento mori
the human network down to one last node
you've won power but never truly glory

answer now in words that are not hoary
explaining how you cracked the final code
the things the same once you've told the story
you've won power but never truly glory

our choices leave us little room to spare
as day and night in sequence go by fast
no decent case of dignity to wear

and vision that suggests more cause to fear
in the cold present than in the dim past
our choices leave us little room to spare

for reprehension at the sullen year
that it has been the truth is all miscast
no decent case of dignity to wear

we're  all frustrated all thrown in despair
all fearful we will hear the final blast
our choices leave us little room to spare

for any of the goods that we should bear
since our great goal will never be surpassed
no decent case of dignity to wear

when we confront the enemy or dare
the final gate that victory's the last
our choices leave us little room to spare
no decent case of dignity to wear

now spring appears all verdant on the scene
there's weight of dust and water in the air
all eyes are taken by the sudden green

the change of seasons never comes quite clean
but winter's going with one sort of care
now spring appears all verdant on the scene

to reassure us that the great machine
continues working now the signs are fair
all eyes are taken by the sudden green

the starting colours almost seem obscene
after the starkness yet we cannot fear
now spring appears all verdant on the scene

as roughnesses are covered by a screen
of leaves and blossoms and now we stare
all  eyes are taken by the sudden green

of trees and bushes that we had long seen
bare and asleep so now a new affair
now spring appears all verdant on the scene
all eyes are taken by the sudden green

the peadove in the cage with healing wing
is fed and watered given proper care
but other birds have better cause to sing

in open freedom far beyond the ring
of human fences when we who now spare
the peadove in the cage with healing wing

have made the choice to take away the sting
of what was cruel in this whole affair
but other birds have better cause to sing

about the matters that our causes bring
and so their voices carry on the air
while peadove in the cage with healing wing

must be imprisoned though fed like a king
lacking all liberty and full of fear
but other birds have better cause to sing

upon the day we choose this bird to spring
out of its lodge and back into the the air
the peadove in the cage with healing wing
but other birds have better cause to sing

the masks are worn but still remain as true
as in the early day but when we move
beyond the instant second then the groove
has changed and there's no power to renew
what was ill-made by any human view
the which we have no right to disapprove
rather to wait as others would remove
our final hope with the bright morning dew
behind each mask no ordinary face
but visage bearing some immortal sign
come down to us from the ancestral race
as sign and symbol of a truth divine
for who we are and for the paths we tread
the times are clear and the meanings dread

this is the verb that we declare must stand
for place and season taken out of time
by our decision rendered full sublime
by simplest action of creative hand
uttered each morning by serene command
the sound itself is richer than each chime
of golden bells tuned to a perfect prime
while the symbolic meaning is so grand
all that we say can be reduced to this
concision of significance and sound
where every symbol strains into the light
yet not a thing is here that we could miss
even if we retreat to harder ground
since we have turned our backs upon the night

we watch the summer swallows swoop and soar
beneath the heavy  clouds while  children sleep
oblivious to the way  the long hours creep


like mice through the long grass so we abhor
the many pressures that have made us weep
we watch the summer swallows swoop and soar


so near our heads it must affect the score
and strike our hearts  the fountain's source is deep
in native rock meanwhile like passive sheep
we watch the summer swallows swoop and soar

let us recall  the best effects of style
when those who listen know how best to hear
and do not injure those who hold most dear
the hidden blessings of the final mile
rather they wish the urgent to beguile
expecting that the best might engineer
sounds that will please the most discerning ear
and lead once drooping eyes to shine and smile
the age of wonder has no fixed return
but comes upon us as we seem to find
not a changed world but a remarked abode
the home that we have loved for which we yearn
that seemed so hidden for time out of mind
appear before us as we climb the road

we cycle round and mark another year
when spring has come and buds are on the tree
the skies are light and pollen's in the air

what started in my heart as just a dare
(a challenge against fate) has come to be
we cycle round and mark another year

with greater hope and more reasons for care
as darker odours join the potpourri
the skies are light and pollen's in the air

but time's a gift that we don't have to spare
nor is good chance coming upon the sea
we cycle round and mark another year

by blending vacant smile and distant stare
with swift refusal of the things we see
the skies are light and pollen's in the air

those are the givens and all else is smear
upon the screen of life we cannot flee
we cycle round and mark another year
the skies are light and pollen's in the air

so we are clear that in the winter sun
beneath the cloudless sky when all is cold
though all is bright our hearts are not consoled
by any knowledge the good times are done
while an uncertain epoch has begun
when the best folk are not doomed to be old
when crab his kingdom has now been foretold
so that the countdown clock is on its run
we seldom grieve the brightness of the day
until we see the stars in the night sky
and then declare the sunlight was too brief
for all we had to do or had to say
yet know the while that our words are a lie
to cover up a monumental grief

no trumpets echo in the deepest night
each is alone and must make their own way
towards the portals that let in new day
lacking the hearty pleasures of insight
and most uncertain still the ******* fright
will not much longer have unfettered sway
within this realm nor will the foolish bray
insisting on what cannot long be right
what we find true belongs to honest chance
the golden bloom that in the dawn we pluck
with loving thoughts arisen in each heart
ready the while to furnish our advance
with certainty that goes beyond plain luck
and all the wisdom that is from our art

at the commencement all the world was dared
for a small prize a kiss  and then a hope
so that the magic feeling would be shared

not by the ones whose  urgency was feared
as they came running down the morning *****
at the commencement all the world was dared

just so they could with justice be prepared
for honourable parting we elope
so that the magic feeling would be shared

in proper form and time by those who cared
more deeply and were happy they could cope
at the commencement all the world was dared

yet we survive while all the children stared
as new dawn seemed to offer yet more scope
so that the magic feeling would be shared

by all the folk who knew they had been spared
to hold with strength what they could barely *****
at the commencement all the world was dared
so that the magic feeling would be shared

we cannot grasp the current situation
our hands are not quite equal to the task
and comrade lenin's at the finland station

all sense has gone from leaders of the nation
while generals have all dived into flask
we cannot grasp the current situation

but know that it's no cause for celebration
as we have reached the bottom of the cask
and comrade lenin's at the finland station

we tried to impose rules of segregation
but found that there were things we could not ask
we cannot grasp the current situation

the masses do not give us admiration
while idle rulers on far beaches bask
and comrade lenin's at the finland station

we find there is no true accommodation
they've seen the monster face behind the mask
we cannot grasp the current situation
and comrade lenin's at the finland station

so much is wanted but what we must ask

is for the measure that cannot be told

by ordinary creatures at their task

of making worlds to fit the human mould

beyond the which we could not be consoled

but asked for pity and received no share

of what was paid except this empty air

so turning we discerned no further bar

to our escaping save a simple stair

the crescent mirror and the morning star



you give a good account behind your mask

of where the trail was good and where just cold

no warmth remains except within the flask

nor any honour that's not paid with gold

right on the table where the hearts are sold

while every victim hears the case is fair

and yet the axe does not strike unaware

there's no part of the process that's bizarre

while far above our unbowed heads there stare

the crescent mirror and the morning star



in balmier times we might hope to bask

in the approval of the good and bold

enjoy the plaudits while we broach the cask

and wonder why a single voice would scold

instead the angry lessons are unrolled

as every back is loaded down with care

nor is there chance of freedom anywhere

that foolish interlopers hope to mar

beyond the chances of the normal player

the crescent mirror and the morning star



prince in the end you won't respond to prayer

as no petition has the sort of flair

to touch the souls of palace and bazaar

yet you must go to where the boldest dare

the crescent mirror and the morning star

so much is wanted but what we must ask
is for the measure that cannot be told
by ordinary creatures at their task
of making worlds to fit the human mould
beyond the which we could not be consoled
but asked for pity and received no share
of what was paid except this empty air
so turning we discerned no further bar
to our escaping save a simple stair
the crescent mirror and the morning star

you give a good account behind your mask
of where the trail was good and where just cold
no warmth remains except within the flask
nor any honour that's not paid with gold
right on the table where the hearts are sold
while every victim hears the case is fair
and yet the axe does not strike unaware
there's no part of the process that's bizarre
while far above our unbowed heads there stare
the crescent mirror and the morning star

in balmier times we might hope to bask
in the approval of the good and bold
enjoy the plaudits while we broach the cask
and wonder why a single voice would scold
instead the angry lessons are unrolled
as every back is loaded down with care
nor is there chance of freedom anywhere
that foolish interlopers hope to mar
beyond the chances of the normal player
the crescent mirror and the morning star

prince in the end you won't respond to prayer
as no petition has the sort of flair
to touch the souls of palace and bazaar
yet you must go to where the boldest dare
the crescent mirror and the morning star

partway along the path that all must tread
wrong turning taken in the dusk and muck
no hope to find the proper road ahead

so easy then to say that truth had fled
give up on life along with all my luck
partway along the path that all must tread

while many voices echo no words said
could quite convey how badly one was stuck
no hope to find the proper road ahead

darkness around the human world abed
so easy then the mortal form to shuck
partway along the path that all must tread

where none could scream from simple weight of dread
no light could come from passing car or truck
no hope to find the proper road ahead

the only message was you must fall dead
the world goes on no one will give a ****
partway along the path that all must tread
no hope to find the proper road ahead

none left behind except the final few
who dragging feet had given in to fear
and felt the cold now in the still dark air
there was no doubt but that each of them knew
no help would come not even what was due
since out beyond stood no one who would care
about such folk and none with heart to spare
for such as perish in cold morning dew
now liberation is the glory word
for when the yoke is taken off our backs
but that is not what happened on that night
the actual story’s complex and absurd
involving battles skirmishes and tax
with weeping loss of kindred truth and right

so now all clocks are showing the time's passed
for wearing chains and keeping dark heads bowed
since august morning has come round at last

although the sons of hate may stand aghast
we know our parents wept but were not cowed
so now all clocks are showing the time's passed

and we will leave till now we had held fast
but we can show the world that we are proud
since august morning has come round at last

so long a silence then the thunderblast
of our rejoicing we were good and loud
so now the clocks are showing the time's passed

for humble patient service we will cast
away all ******* tear apart the shroud
since august morning has come round at last

with our free hands we sanctify the past
as for the future we face it unbowed
so now all clocks are showing the time's passed
since august morning has come round at last

this is the day when we may bless the sun
no cloud can daunt us once we're through the night
for on this morning all our good is won

the long dark course of horror has been run
so now we have true clarity of sight
this is the day when we may bless the sun

not as our whip for that time is now done
but as an honest beneficent light
for on this morning all our good is won

we must make real the tales that once we spun
around the fire to keep our spirits bright
this is the day when we may bless the sun

for now there is no fear of lance or gun
since we may dance in our masters' despite
for on this morning all our good is won

service to past and future we won't shun
nor ever drop from memory the long fight
this is the day when we may bless the sun
for on this morning all our good is won

so long a silence covers up much pain
we can rejoice but we must still recall
this sun of freedom rises through the rain

why they were taken we need not explain
for weight of shadows on us casts a pall
so long a silence covers up much pain

of those who suffered for other folks’ gain
whose battered bodies hung against the wall
this sun of freedom rises through the rain

and still we dance our every hope made plain
elsewhise we’d stoop and crouch and bend and bawl
so long a silence covers up much pain

they won their battle and their long campaign
whose time of servitude was not so small
this sun of freedom rises through the rain

with words of justice sung in no wild strain
by men and women proudly standing tall
so long a silence covers up much pain
this sun of freedom rises through the rain

we fall so far that the first sign of light
awakens us to shaking and to pain
not ready but we face it all again
there was no comfort in the arms of night
we got it wrong so gelid is our plight
yet these are things that no one need explain
each is quite normal not a one's arcane
for suffering's a universal rite
what each must do is take up the hard load
of human courage as if it were new
and clasp it tightly without much regret
accept that this is one rough stony road
that comes with  sorrow and no good long view
and all is paid with labour and cold sweat

in mild november every tree seems red
these maples blazing with unhidden fires
in briefest glory as the day expires
while winter is to come with heavy tread
but not just yet and while clouds overhead
cluster like doom the birds sit on the wires
and do not worry the winds may be liars
while changing seasons don't occasion dread
meanwhile we wonder at the changing scene
at who will be our neighbours and how plain
the day shall be with no leaves on the lawn
but nothing matters while the grass is green
and we have shelter from the chilling rain
with guarantee of sleep until the dawn

what's meant is caring so deep into night
when fever drives me so far round the twist
i cannot be brought back without assist
yet when my mind is clear you are still bright
as summer noonday this is my best sight
of joyous wonder but the entire gist
of what i say is this that you exist
is total magic plus you set things right
this little gift of words is small return
for all those hours of complete devotion
for being there each time push came to shove
but words take time to make and each must learn
to take some time to gentle life's commotion
and know the meaning of what's truly love

september and the butterflies still flit
from bloom to bloom trees manage still to sway
in gentle time in nature's smoothest play
while i am still alive to smile at it
my heart and mind have found the truest grit
is not in words nor in what good folk say
but in the patterns of the everyday
in ready laughter and in honest wit
there are no angels waiting for my soul
nor gods in the beyond with secrets grand
ready to weigh my spirit for its worth
i take this journey for a single whole
the good i do must come from a kind hand
and honest tears are good with honest mirth

out of the light some errant hope may creep
to stay harsh fears and keep in stern control
those bitter terrors which reign over sleep
since we are many miles short of our goal
nor can a single one afford the toll
for all our efforts we have come up short
one of our heads might yet adorn a pole
there is no justice in our rulers' court

our sense of history does not go deep
nor yet much further than the old school roll
for we want all our stories on the cheap
and honour is not something we extol
we want the stallion but not the foal
and find it is so easy to distort
the symbols that are written on the scroll
there is no justice in our rulers' court

in coming dark we will react like sheep
whose bleating the kind butcher must console
before he throws each body on the heap
or drinks another beer from his large bowl
the watcher might just find the whole thing droll
or take the scheduled slaughter for good sport
did he not see the shepherd on patrol
there is no justice in our rulers' court
prince you believe your subject has no soul
and can say nothing here of great import
but without him you cannot soon be whole
there is no justice in our rulers' court

you haven't got the sense to make things short
when length must matter brevity's the key
to bridge the immense gap from is to ought
which many of us do not want to see
since clarity of vision makes us flee
straight to the place where no one wants to hide
afraid of all the facts that cannot be
but truth and passion have to coincide

 your choices do not lead us to support
the cause that we learnt at our parents' knee
when we were told that it was dearly bought
and at that time all things seemed to agree
with what we wanted and no absentee
masters abroad were eager to deride
nor wail and whimper like a mad banshee
but truth and passion have to coincide

 you think the vessel won't get into port
since nothing you commanded came to be
while those you ordered have to face a court
and some of then will hang from gallows-tree
or lie beneath a dark and angry sea
as fate and anguish either may decide
since neither time nor  force will hear your plea
but truth and passion have to coincide

 prince you have given cause to disagree
with all your actions but you've shown esprit
the problem is you've chosen the wrong side
the time has come to fight or else to flee
but truth and passion have to coincide

the moon is dancing in the  village square
with happy girls whose eyes reflect the stars
while older folk bite down on their cigars
and watch the smoke rise through the calm night air
this is the time of change the turning year
moving fast downward but no harsh thing mars
the splendid moment and there are no bars
to joy this night the morning's time for fear
we do not know what sorrows still to come
will burn themselves into each youthful heart
no terrors lurk but love's rewards are won
though elder smiles conceal the truths of glum
experience they let the young ones dart
into dark corners soon enough comes sun

resounding horns in deep glittering cave
not music now nor urgent call of hunt
a message that is both banal and blunt
containing nothing that we need or crave
yet full of meaning those who are so brave
may striking upward swiftly to confront
the enemy who blasts may hear them grunt
with sudden shock of nothing left to save
our hope is not in music nor in joy
of victory hard won by those who fought
without the expectation of reward
we seek instead the means to best employ
the tools of wisdom and the ways of thought
to bring about best means of good accord

so many echoes in the rain
leave nothing of our vision clear
but when we breathe the morning air

the feeling's fresh the scent is plain
to all who notice yet we hear
so many echoes in the rain

that every ordinary brain
is forced into a deep despair
at oaths that we are forced to swear
so many echoes in the rain

far out beyond the eastern shore
where all our senses ought to fail
the howling realm of shark and whale

exist dim hints of something more
another place on larger scale
far out beyond the eastern shore

what's there is easy to ignore
the oceans are too wide to sail
waters are deep winds loudly wail
far out beyond the eastern shore