Willow Walk

proper lesson

the journey we've begun has no right end

or so we think since all our hopes are wild

for there are many motives we'll defend

though not all of our charges are defiled

by hatreds of the sort that you reviled

when speaking in plain justice of the fact

that none of us come through the world intact

each of the winners learns just how to bend

the moment that she stops being a child

while he who's wise knows best just to pretend

a temperament that's always calm and mild

just so the watching eye is safe beguiled

none of these matters is at all abstract

keep this in mind and you won't be attacked

not one of us can think now to depend

on those who might be honourably styled

our champions we can't call on one friend

whose name is not in the red record filed

to live full grown and not die as a child

that's all the purpose we will not be wracked

but others must be seen to live and act

the occupation of the hour

what memory paints is never truly told

yet what we find are more than ghosts of care

since every sunset turned the green trees gold

we do our best to praise and not to scold

to bring about a time that is more fair

what memory paints is never truly told

there was less good in crazy days of old

when crudity and harshness were laid bare

since every sunset turned the green trees gold

we thought less then of hearts cruel and cold

ruling a world in fetters of despair

what memory paints is never truly told

but now the tale is starting to unfold

the outline's wholly visible out there

since every sunset turned the green trees gold

there's no more talk of how much has been sold

nor or the price to put upon the air

what memory paints is never truly told

since every sunset turned the green trees gold

distorting mirror

when the past does not fade and disappear

we're forced to confront it to face the pain

of solid memory to feel all again

within each mind something in the dull air

weighs down upon us with the weight of care

while every face reflects the groaning strain

and total terror that we can see plain

when nothing's left to mankind but raw fear

the once safe garden now becomes a cage

by our own efforts for we are so dense

we cannot see the function of a wall

is to hold in not just to keep out rage

that justice functions better as defence

and isolation leads to the last fall

those dead yesterdays

life is best measured by the hopes we burn

through those dead yesterdays none could forget

times when the fattest were the most sharp set

which ended we wished would never return

still this is what each of us pays to learn

from that hard teacher whom we name regret

the many ways that life is overset

and those lost gifts for which we will long yearn

so let the drum beat none of us will leave

without a turn upon the judgment seat

so we gain wisdom from the hard result

although our purpose was not to deceive

we're forced unto it by the long defeat

which strips us of all reasons to exult

answering the tyrant

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

colour of morning

no echo now but in the dull grey light

see passing birds that pause and watch us feed

our satiated faces lacking need

or understanding in their urgent flight

of what exactly is the human plight

or when our hunger turns into stark greed

the passerine just seeks an errant seed

and a safe place where it can spend the night

the human does not show the passing bird

this truth of life that everything's the same

since all of us make up a single cast

we're subject each of us to one hard word

as players in the sole eternal game

each doomed to pass in time into the past

for a long year

golden and warm in the december sun

this fading year will pass and be no more

we pause and take account of all that's done

since normal duty includes keeping score

what we must do is often clear and plain

to be repeated and done once again

our task unfinished this mild winter day

is not the simple message we convey

but something awesome born of nature's grace

seen not on mountain nor in ocean spray

the true redemption of the human race

we think we can escape that we can run

some massive distance from the starting door

and then be free but there's no means to shun

the things we are they're with us to the core

clear in the light and won't wash off in rain

that is the fact of our eternal stain

nor is there any word that we might say

to grant us ease nor even to delay

the fact of judgment the truth we must face

is not one we avoid in any way

the true redemption of the human race

the journey starts with us thinking it fun

but none believe that on the final shore

nor think of it in terms of lost and won

of those we love and those we now abhor

we speak of rivers that have found the main

of means by which we might a truth sustain

and understandings of the honest way

including moments that will never stay

but all that comes is part of the whole case

and from that knowledge no true soul will stray

the true redemption of the human race

prince none will wish our poor hopes to betray

and there's no unjust word that you could say

we have direction and we know our place

participants in nature's grand ballet

the true redemption of the human race

against fear or doubt

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 hard on 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

dark winter rain

despair embodied in dark winter rain

through fitful sleep in absence of all dream

to wake pursuing the first pallid gleam

within a world marked by the human stain

there's not one thing that's simple clear or plain

nothing that honest living might redeem

from what we suffer at the last extreme

paid for in horror and in stabbing pain

there's no deliverance from what we are

nor is it chosen freely in the sun

in a light-hearted moment with a smile

by each of us no favourable star

can serve to light our steps on homeward run

nor gleam and brighten on the final mile

the music of new light

we strain to hear the music of new light

within each heart to tell the truth of strain

as we rebuild the castle once again

on land of hope with chances maybe slight

indifferent between horror and delight

in a swift race to beat the winter rain

and certain that the walls won't keep out pain

but may succeed at shelter from the night

our hope is simple out there in the cold

no one survives so if we can defend

against the dark some little may endure

to do all this we must stay sharp and bold

from the harsh start right to the tawdry end

for the one golden gift we can secure

at water's edge

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