Willow Walk

in hoc signo vinces

you had a dream and had to watch it die

no one would speak as all the good folk fell

there is no safety left beneath this sky

 

you saw the anger blazing in his eye

and listened to the hostile shout and yell

you had a dream and had to watch it die

 

nothing was said you had no time to cry

nobody thought even to toll a bell

there is no safety left beneath this sky

 

the times are sour and the season's dry

no word is left for anyone to tell

you had a dream and had to watch it die

 

we have no thought to interfere or pry

no hope is left that we might have to quell

there is no safety left beneath this sky

 

you enter now the kingdom of the lie

the place appointed for your living hell

you had a dream and had to watch it die

there is no safety left beneath this sky

terminal announcement

no one must see where tired phrases go
what truly matters is the broadcast lie
our motives are as pure as day-old snow

nobody cares what stubborn breezes blow
nor what the colour of the morning sky
no one must see where tired phrases go

tomorrow comes the radioactive glow
for now we punish those who dare to pry
our motives are as pure as day-old snow

we gave our bank accounts a chance to grow
and watched as all the numbers mounted high
no one must see where tired phrases go

we do not care if you hatred bestow
upon our heads we have the time to fly
our motives are as pure as day-old snow

this is the hour that you will come to know
when all our assets have to go bye-bye
no one must see where tired phrases go
our motives are as pure as day-old snow

voice at the temple

so much to say and we are out of touch

with what belongs to our most secret heart

nothing remains not even a small crutch

to hold us up this is not on our part

the source of pain the reason for our smart

what makes us grow will lead us from the fire

take us to ease and much abate our ire

all that we plan to do is outlive shame

ignore the voices of the angry choir

and in our time ignite a living flame

 

what has been hidden in the deepest hutch

becomes a matter for the painter's art

it starts out little but it becomes much

we may not recognise it at the start

but learn to know it before we depart

as something never easy to acquire

a teaching that must pass from child to sire

that might reverse the meaning of the game

this is the thing about which we inquire

and in our time ignite a living flame

 

we make our manses pretty and as such

have many hidden words we must impart

before we let the visions leave our clutch

so we cannot allow the light to dart

our of our hands into the open mart

nor can we let you tune upon your lyre

the sounds that might with ease go even higher

instead we hold you down and keep you tame

insist that you do nothing but admire

and in our time ignite a living flame

 

prince you may think yourself a proper flyer

controller of your own life and desire

but there are forces here you dare not name

that will take over when at last you tire

and in our time ignite a living flame

meeting the hour

the universe it seems must turn to stone

all of our hopes must vanish into mist

we face the pain and horror all alone

 

you do not hear us when we have to groan

and voices cry upon us to desist

the universe it seems must turn to stone

 

silence is broken by a little moan

not one of you will rush here to assist

we face the pain and horror all alone

 

upon the heights another wind has blown

the blossom by another sun been kissed

the universe it seems must turn to stone

 

for what's been done nobody could atone

this is a force that none could here resist

we face the pain and horror all alone

 

our needs have been stripped to the very bone

we aren't expected ever to persist

the universe it seems must turn to stone

we face the pain and horror all alone

a tree may fall

so much to do and so much more to fear
words limit us and do not give us ease
on this and this alone the world agrees
as day follows day and year succeeds year
the twists and turns of each normal career
seem but the leaps of ignoramus fleas
or else the palpitations of disease
and we are pushed to the far edge of care
those are the choices of an age of crime
when every speaker utters a new lie
word after word oppressing human hearts
until we seem to have run out of time
and nothing's left beneath the hateful sky
that will respond to our remaining arts

this is not significant

what's absent is the sense that we are whole

for what belongs here has for now been lost

between the summer and the coming frost

 

what we thought the beginning was the goal

the meaning in the symbol had been glossed

what's absent is the sense that we are whole

 

so many stars that dance around the pole

but fail to guide us when we're tempest-tossed

that's what we find out and we pay the cost

what's absent is the sense that we are whole

early in the morning

those who find ways to strangle their own hope

are not the kings whose purpose we must praise

their only journey is down the last slope

we want nothing to do with their lost ways

our choice instead is with the morning blaze

the light that comes before the flaming sun

the star whose meaning we can never shun

 

we pay out many lengths of this rough rope

and wait for what seem endless sets of days

it is our task simply to wait and cope

with all the matters within normal gaze

we aren't rewarded with any bouquets

nor can we see no matter where we run

the star whose meaning we can never shun

 

we are not cleansed with any weight of soap

nor hampered by the endless laws delays

if we can't walk our enemies can't lope

and the wise donkey it is that now brays

truths that the coming god is he who slays

all that deny him and what's well begun

the star whose meaning we can never shun

 

we have the choice to abstain or to tope

stand still or dance in these complex ballets

be silent or announce the modern trope

knowing that the one who speaks first betrays

all that he is and these are no clichés

so much is said but nothing has been done

the star whose meaning we can never shun

so much lost meaning

this is what touches to the very core

leaves us uncertain open to the cold

still with full knowledge we can learn to soar

 

this is no journey you have made before

nor any story that you have been told

this is what touches to the very core

 

you think to close the last unblemished door

and make secure those in the normal fold

still with full knowledge we can learn to soar

 

not one of us but has been keeping score

and does not wait to hear your usual scold

this is what touches to the very core

 

you need to hear that we learn to adore

that from our former nature we're cajoled

still with full knowledge we can learn to soar

 

what we have gained is not in any store

it can't be measured only in soft gold

this is what touches to the very core

still with full knowledge we can learn to soar

a spicy scent upon the evening air

a single sniff can bring back all the pain

all recollection flows into the light

it is not cleansed by either sun or rain

 

the pace of life does not remove the stain

of who we were nor does it ease our plight

a single sniff can bring back all the pain

 

so many secrets held within one brain

and just one lie that it is sweet and bright

it is not cleansed by either sun or rain

 

we hear the song and wish you would refrain

from that bald chorus it does not delight

a single sniff can bring back all the pain

 

the sweetness vanishes from the old cane

and all the leaves are wilted by a blight

it is not cleansed by either sun or rain

 

in utter silence we're forced to abstain

from all the things to which we had a right

a single sniff can bring back all the pain

it is not cleansed by either sun or rain

twisted ballade

so much is owed to those who cannot speak

for all their silences and we who jest

at wounding others are the truly weak

too much to do as we go up the creek

computing meanings on our steady way

not knowing what it is we really seek

yet hoping all the time we will reach day

 

significance has now become antique

opinion is not subject here to test

and any question is dismissed as cheek

every approach can only be oblique

expressed as falsehood or as plain cliché

wondering now if any pain's unique

yet hoping all the time we will reach day

 

desire cannot lift us above the reek

of those who suffer nor lead us to rest

while bodies remain hale and bones don't creak

we are not yet exposed nor pierced by beak

nor yet the victims of unholy play

we're heading down the last losing streak

yet hoping all the time we will reach day

 

prince this is not the time for you to freak

at the great weakness of our mortal clay

we're fearful of the end of your critique

yet hoping all the time we will reach day