Blubber
Sometimes I get tired
Of all the blubber
The grinding of systems
The metal to the rubber

The pushing of points
The singing to the choir
Pickaxe in place of featherc
Look there's a bird upon the wire

Maybe potions going dry
No thank you please
And fingers going all stiff
While here awaits the feast

And vases laying all smashed
Words sitting there all torn
Lets gather the broken scraps
Rearrange them and be reborn

Maybe it's me and only me
Closing an old and tattered page
Maybe I've overstayed my welcome
On an old and creaky stage

Ah the sticks an stones are smiling now
The crows I think they've left
But the cinders upon ash
Still burn bright upon this hearth

Out into the clearing
See it twinkling up ahead
An inkling of some something
Some of us have thought of and said

Merlin's done it agian
Con-Ed's shut down
Tesla's come into power
And White Bear gets his crown
Oh
And
George Carlin is pope
Shakespeare is president
They both know the ropes
And you what ya think?
Wink, wink

People are like acrylic vases..
So pretty and shapely and tidy and neat..
With their simple designs and flat bottoms;
Some are glittery, some are bold,
Some are colourful and, some are plain gold.

They rest on the shelves for display,
Each showing their perfect angle, their brightest colour..
Each waiting to be knocked down by life's childish play.
Some tumble and fall,
Others crack open but stand tall,
Some are yet to be victims of life's call.

Among thousands of millions of acrylic vases,
There sits one unnoticed vase that faces
The direct rays of the sunlight beams,
Which dance through its translucent glass
It's the only unique one in the entire mass.

When light dances through it you can see
That it's not translucent but crystal-clear,
The fog of patchwork which makes it unclear to see,
Is nothing but shards of glass in a smear.

My broken baby stands tall,
With a few missing pieces and others glued on,
He breaks more and cracks further with every fall
He doesn't look like he once used to,
That silhouette of his shadow is long gone...

But he is beautiful like no other can be
And he is whole in his incompleteness
His damaged self and damaged reputation
Makes him purer and truer than most others
If only they put aside their prejudiced condemnation.

But broken he is, and pain he is enduring.
How long can he carry on?
How long can he stand upright?
How long before all his pieces begin to fall and he loses his fight?
I want to fix him, I want to glue him back piece by piece
I want to ease his agony, help him up,
If only he'd let me.

Perhaps he's too afraid of my touch,
Too afraid that I may break him further
And crack down his glass into powder
If only he'd let me touch him, he'd know
That my grip on his form is like a soothing balm,
His cracks would lessen, while I'd watch his mind
Shift from madness to a serene calm.

But my broken baby needs no one, he made it very clear,
He'd rather face the elements alone than lean on another.
If only he saw how it makes me feel,
How it makes me weep tear after tear
Perhaps  one day he'd want me and no other.

Oh, my broken baby let me save you!
Let me build you up again piece by piece
Let me rip my pieces to make you whole,
Let me help you become complete.
Let me be your martyr, your saviour in disguise,
Watch my features plead and hear my helpless cries!

There's a room full of vases
And each one is different.
Some have cracks,
Others, fractures;
Some have crumbled,
Others, shattered;
Some have different colours
In a patchwork pattern.
Some look whole and well
But only from a distance;
Others' cracks are so fine
Only the vase can tell it's broken.
But each vase is beautiful.
Each vase can be useful,
Be patched up and hold something.
This room full of vases
Appears sad to some,
But it is also
Brimming with life.