a glooming peace

almost we cannot shift the weight
it bears upon us with great pain
as we await the healing rain
each of us wonders at our fate
the sense of shock will not abate
it's not a matter of loss or gain
but of how far we might restrain
the power that would break the slate
never have we required the load
that once was carried by the strong
to break the backs of those who wait
instead the weight has been a goad
to move although the road is long
and we may never reach the gate

swellhead the tyrant

a name that we forget is not a name
truth that's not spoken is not really true
shame that's unfelt isn't true shame
a name that we forget is not a name

we are the ones who always win the game
our rivals can all shout till they turn blue
a name that we forget is not a name
truth that's not spoken is not really true

our sense of what is right can't ever fail
for if it did then we would all be lost
our sense of honour never will be stale
our sense of what is right can't ever fail

against all changes we will loudly rail
we'll shift to others all the heavy cost
our sense of what is right can't ever fail
for if it did then we would all be lost

a matter then of what is fair and just
and that will be what gives us greater power
our challengers will have to eat our dust
a matter then of what is fair and just

we can't let any swords fall prey to rust
we need our weapons ready for this hour
a matter then of what is fair and just
and that will be what gives us greater power

heard all before

They will not matter, all the words you speak;
the ones who make the rules just do not care
the strong and powerful just ignore the weak.

In all directions there's one prognosis: bleak.
There's nothing to be set out as our share,
they will not matter all the words you speak.

We're all alone and must therefore be meek
although we know the boss is never fair;
the strong and powerful just ignore the weak.

Our righteous anger is dismissed as pique,
we're told we're lucky we don't pay for the air;
they will not matter all the words you speak.

Should any come they'll not find what they seek
since nothing will be given us but fear;
the strong and powerful just ignore the weak.

Justice and honour might as well be Greek
since what we face is simply power laid bare;
they will not matter all the words you speak,
the strong and powerful just ignore the weak.

experiential knowledge

good sense is not a thing that can be taught
every mistake's a coin dropped in the bank
each of us knows just what we have wrought
good sense is not a thing that can be taught

the joyful fish is one that will be caught
it will get dropped right into the tank
good sense is not a thing that can be taught
every mistake's a coin dropped in the bank

a sort of pause

nothing of moment
butterfly in the garden
summer arriving

bent under sunshine
i watch the busy workers
toiling in this heat

accepting payment
the fruits they ripen slowly
promise of pleasure