Willow Walk

this is our tale

a sort of secret in this open yard
what is best hidden cannot be said plain
but may be whispered when the window's barred
so many stories of that concealed stain
of all the ones who went against the grain
and let the rope and leather simply fall
the beast escape from the well-guarded stall
matters like these are not beyond surmise
words might be spoken at noon in the hall
the winner is not he who gains the prize

you do not see the sign upon the card
that might be said to mark the loss or gain
of those who need to earn your good regard
the ones who speak know you will not remain
once all the symbols cease to be arcane
for what is sugar may one day be gall
that which now pleases must swiftly appall
if you aren't told that we should now advise
you must not let these foolish ways enthral
the winner is not he who gains the prize

an honest purpose may be easy marred
by those who want to tighten up the chain
and laugh and you the silly avant-garde
who seek the pleasure and forget the pain
that comes on later you cannot abstain
from taking part in the far larger brawl
that is expected when you hear the call
of the strange forces that reshape the skies
and come upon us like a sudden squall
the winner is not he who gains the prize

prince we are here for quite the longest haul
and ready for the struggle great or small
we may seem paltry to your noble eyes
but we will make it though we have to crawl
the winner is not he who claims the prize

ballade of the long return

we do not claim this place as any home

yet are most happy when we see the door

it takes a lot of energy to roam

and we are glad to reach a well-known shore

caring so little of the total score

that we might wonder that we took such pains

and pulled so heavily on all those chains

that hurt so much and calloused our small hands

we know the song and know all the refrains

these are the best we find of all the lands

 

 

there's something honest about the sea-foam

upon this beach something we adore

about the way the waves gently comb

the weedy rocks with their soapy amour

we take a pleasure in the endless roar

it seems a kind relief from all the strains

a blest reward for our long hard campaigns

and better music than we hear from bands

it eases all the fevers in our brains

these are the best we find of all the lands

 

 

we won't find written in the longest tome

the secrets that we have been looking for

but on this strand in the fresh morning gloam

we are aware the world holds something more

than horrid monsters good folk should abhor

we turn from seascapes to harder terrains

and look on hills rising above the plains

our feet move slowly on the hard-packed sands

we cannot know how much to us remains

these are the best we find of all the lands

 

 

prince of your force not one of us complains

since such great power only a god attains

and we are subject to all your commands

let us rejoice that these are your domains

these are the best we find of all the lands

raw force & ignorance

you never wonder what's the proper case
there are no reasons we must now take flight
all of our chickens are in their due place
and we have shown our foes that we have might
no one expects us not to be forthright
we do not have to terrify a brat
nor stamp a mountain till it is all flat
you know full well we need not more than glower
and not a one would dare create a spat
we have the will and we have all the power

there is a chance to fill the needed space
with things that could make our days sweet and bright
returning matters to their due full grace
and keeping back the pressure of old night
that is the sort of luck that should excite
even the heart of carrion bird or bat
the kind of vigour that a god begat
descending as a swan or in a shower
upon a maiden on a golden mat
we have the will and we have all the power

you do not think that you could just abase
yourself and seek to take a gentler bite
in some half-manic game of saving face
your chance of freedom is not more than slight
and your kind could not hope now to unite
against us any more than could the rat
become a gentleman with a cravat
or transform itself in a brief half-hour
into fair partner with the hungry cat
we have the will and we have all the power

prince so much happens and we must see that
your will and ours are tested in combat
you know full well how much we can devour
take care you don't become another stat
we have the will and we have all the power

bureaucratic explanation

this is the way we treat the sacred game
not as a means to find the better way
but as a sort of cover for our shame
for fear the open steady solar ray
would our small dirty reasoning betray
we do not wish the world to understand
just how inadequate and far from grand
the thoughts and symbols we keep on our side
better to have some force at our command
we have so many things we need to hide

it's really so much easier to blame
the ones who interrupted us at play
than to explain the failing of the flame
we have no better means than this to sway
all those who come to hear us as we pray
to the vast absences above our land
and who will not obey shall soon be banned
all those who will not hear we shall deride
and every outcome we shall say was planned
we have so many things we need to hide

when we were young we thought the world was tame
and all good things would happen in a day
it was a simple as giving a name
but now we find it never was child's-play
to get through all the world is solid grey
no useful tool is ready to each hand
and all construction seems to be on sand
we start so well then we begin to slide
all of our power is swiftly unmanned
we have so many things we need to hide

prince when you find us lonely on the strand
you have to know just what we could withstand
there is so much we do just out of pride
but in the end we do not look so grand
you must above all clearly understand
we have so many things we need to hide

kingdom of the angry sheep

this is the kingdom of the angry sheep
where no one has a choice about the rant
and many promises are still to keep
a sage could pause before he must incant
and let the process of itself enchant
the ones who needed most to feel such ire
as would make even the most bold inquire
regarding just why we needed such a rule
or how pressure could go even higher
the one who finds the answer's not a fool

the truth of power goes not very deep
and turns out to be a most shallow plant
yet is not something that we can get cheap
its makings are not things we just decant
upon a fertile ground there is no cant
only for chanting on guitar or lyre
to which the simplest stripling might aspire
it takes much more than just going to school
we have to struggle hard out of the mire
the one who finds the answer's not a fool

all of our efforts end up on the heap
as victims of the termite and the ant
and nothing's bettered by some hours of sleep
nor is there anything we might recant
or any older mode we could supplant
these failings mark the end of all desire
no different for the seller or the buyer
we load the backs of every willing mule
it does not even moan or once perspire
the one who finds the answer's not a fool

prince you'll discover right across the fire
that there's no difference save in the attire
matters take little time to reach their cool
and you learn swiftly just what we require
the one who finds the answer's not a fool

ballade of victory

who wants to echo the most moral sigh
of those who in the morning fade away
without a chance of hearing the reply
as all the darkness slowly becomes grey
another silence earns its proper pay
in shaping what we do not care to know
of all the forms that nature might bestow
upon the places where we might reside
whether from high above or down below
this world is where we bury all our pride

too many fools have listened to the lie
and thought the hardest task was simple play
their faces now are hidden from the sky
and they cannot their horror now betray
who have been taken out of human way
we in our turn have many miles to go
beside the river that won't cease its flow
there is no place to run and none to hide
we have no chance to escape hungry crow
this world is where we bury all our pride

an idiot might sometime dignify
all means by which the many go astray
but such things do not please the aging eye
of those who have seen many a bitter day
and understand the meaning of each ray
of failing light which no one could forgo
as dying millions wait the killing blow
and high above the lazy vultures glide
no footprints are left in the sand or snow
this world is where we bury all our pride

prince in your face we've seen the final glow
of nuclear light and seen the dead chateaux
palaces barracks cities none abide
all order now has met its overthrow
the highest honour has fallen most low
this world is where we bury all our pride

the modern midas

the shades of heroes from our world withdraw
honour's abandoned and we're told the game
is not about a decent human law
but how to turn the wild into the tame
or bring our master one more piece of fame
there is no need of which we are aware
that should befall the weakest billionaire
since wealth alone defines just who is fit
to get attention and receive due care
from modern midas who turns gold to shit

we're told the tiger with his stealthy paw
will wreak much damage and that we must blame
his depredations which no one foresaw
for all the horrors which we overcame
only to have each mistake to disclaim
as weary year succeeds on weary year
and we still trumpet that all folk must fear
the ones who threat and danger must emit
we'll be defended by the steady stare
from modern midas who turns gold to shit

it's not the tiger with its tiny maw
a creature that's so easy to defame
but the much larger monster with large jaw
whose goodness all our leaders do proclaim
the one who steals without a sense of shame
and leaves the cupboard and the larder bare
he is the benefactor preachers blare
and his path to retirement is well-lit
with gentle torches that cast no great glare
from modern midas who turns gold to shit

prince you tell us that we are free as air
the way to fortune is set out quite clear
we leave to you the passion and the wit
you tell us who to kill and who to spare
and we learn who to aid and who impair
from modern midas who turns gold to shit