sufficient knowledge

there's nothing left for us to know
except the reasons for our pain
life's nothing but a puppet-show
there's nothing left for us to know

outside the leaves shimmer and glow
the trees and grass just long for rain
there's nothing left for us to know
life's nothing but a puppet-show

at times we wonder at the strain
the quarrel beckons and the row
so much there is that seems so plain
at times we wonder at the strain

the human presence seems a stain
our hearts and minds are just so slow
at times we wonder at the strain
the quarrel beckons and the row

we're caught within the ebb and flow
just on the edge of the great main
we hear the morning cock will crow
we're caught within the ebb and flow

daily the signals come and go
at night we look for charles's wain
we're caught within the ebb and flow
just on the edge of the great main

hurry up and wait

the reader that i want i cannot know
they are not me that's true and clear
caught up in the complexity of flow
the reader that i want i cannot know

all such matters are i'm told just so
they fall between the speaker and the ear
the reader that i want i cannot know
they are not me that's true and clear

blinded by shadows i deplore the fact
that others may not read just what i write
my thought and theory are what they lacked
blinded by shadows i deplore the fact

the signal has now thoroughly been hacked
no messenger today remains in sight
blinded by shadows i deplore the fact
that others may not read just what i write

stories once told belong to the whole world
the author's just the one who found the tale
the flag of commonsense has been unfurled
stories once told belong to the whole world

the reader in their tiny corner curled
must give some merit to the tiny sale
stories once told belong to the whole world
the author's just the one who found the tale

at times i wonder just what thought requires
of those of us who have been paid to think
there's not a glow from those far-distant fires
at times i wonder just what thought requires

at day's end there's no sound of lutes or lyres
from no sure spring have i been taught to drink
at times i wonder just what thought requires
of those of us who have been paid to think

let this remain we've gone beyond the line
and seen more wonders than we might believe
too late we turn to laughter and to wine
let this remain we've gone beyond the line

for our old innocence we will not pine
those who would seek to keep it all deceive
let this remain we've gone beyond the line
and seen more wonders than we might believe

clouds do not let us see the noble sight
of light upon the darkly brilliant leaves
we can't claim any places by plain right
clouds do not let us see the noble sight

we will not be the victims of such fright
nor will we advertise that nature grieves
clouds do not let us see the noble sight
of light upon the darkly brilliant leaves

hope should rest lightly upon every heart
but that's the way of things under the sky
we watch the happy swallows swoop and dart
hope should rest lightly upon every heart

we leave the aftermath to complex art
we tell the truth in manner of a lie
hope should rest lightly upon every heart
but that's the way of things under the sky

what's true is more than we are ever told
the false comes better packaged every day
the world we know is always harsh and cold
what's true is more than we are ever told

the dullest brass will pass for brightest gold
the actors will seem better than the play
what's true is more than we are ever told
the false comes better packaged every day

reflect upon the truth that time's too short
and you will wonder at the scale of waste
enough to worry at expense of thought
reflect upon the truth that time's too short

your rivals will not win at this last court
they fail from scurry and excess of haste
reflect upon the truth that time's too short
and you will wonder at the scale of waste

redefinition of the need

the storm that comes is not the one we need
here all alone we know the empty heart
upon our minds the anxious thoughts will feed

what's left to know is but the magic deed
which makes the prestidigitator smart
the storm that comes is not the one we need

wise gardeners tell the flower from the weed
uproot the latter and throw it on the cart
upon our minds the anxious thought will feed

life is the force that makes each of us bleed
but no one dares to tell us at the start
the storm that comes is not the one we need

too late the dancers begin to take heed
the clouds are doing their predestined part
upon our minds the anxious thought will feed

life's far too short to give in to vile greed
instead we need to choose our proper art
the storm that comes is not the one we need
upon our minds the anxious thought will feed

the cancelled debt

what's been free given is not truly lost
at times we move to a much swifter pace
but being human will not count the cost

out on the stream each one of us is tossed
and then we're told the whole thing is a race
what's been free given is not truly lost

the ones who do the bossing and the bossed
know what is false and what is still the case
but being human will not count the cost

at least we know the price of being crossed
means we're held back and lose our precious place
what's been free given is not truly lost

the meaning's one that can be swiftly glossed
we play the king yet cannot play the ace
but being human will not count the cost

we're ready for what comes both heat and frost
each sees the future with a steady face
what's been free given is not truly lost
but being human will not count the cost