a sudden memory

a sort of message brings old grief
words resurrect forgotten pain
the mind insists on new relief
a sort of message brings old grief

the tale is one not past belief
its truth defines the living grain
a sort of message brings old grief
words resurrect forgotten pain

a measure of our desperation

a measure of our desperation
in all the work that is to do
our fear of making the old new

there's nothing in this situation
that we might take to be so true
a measure of our desperation

as all the good things of creation
come one by one into our view
seeing what matters have been due
a measure of our desperation

no time for fantasy

the tale we've heard is now too old
our thoughts are swifter than the light
no rain fell in the depths of night

it's summer but our hearts are cold
each noise awakens latent fright
the tale we've heard is now too old

we're too tired to be very bold
we take the changes as a right
yet can't let creatures out of sight
the tale we've heard is now too old

we never leave

we're tired of waiting for what's sweet
life's far too sour thus unrelieved
we wanted more but were deceived
we face this lack of drink and meat
with open eyes and hurried feet
too long our hearts were sad and grieved
but we knew just what we believed
we're silent but we ought to bleat
a moment's rest and on we press
our journey has no proper destination
and we would be upset to reach the end
our lives require more than just redress
each of us best knows the situation
but cannot help the movement or the trend

and then the crash

nerves on the edge at any thought of risk
the world we want has not been fully made
our sources are all hidden in the shade

we're solemn as a cook with an egg-whisk
the heat is not reduced with lemonade
nerves on the edge at any thought of risk

so we aren't all as young and spry and brisk
as those bright boys out there on parade
still we've survived and done without your aid
nerves on the edge at any thought of risk

no room for visions

worlds fill with hope and then they disappear
time was we would have said much more than that
the whipping wind has damaged all that's dear
worlds fill with hope and then they disappear

when signals come we hope they are in clear
a storm of anger will leave the trees flat
worlds fill with hope and then they disappear
time was we would have said much more than that

a time for careful thought

what gods peer out from these bewildered trees
we cannot tell for their names are quite dead
a moments calm and then the whirling breeze
a sort of dance but one that's filled with dread
we fear what's hidden from the one who sees
the true decision's kept within each head
a matter of the heart we choose to think
and then we find ourselves right on the brink

the weather's broken but there's not yet rest
our knowledge cannot shield us from the fire
what proof there is comes out of this hard test
the wisest know they're preaching to the choir
and yet they tell us we must give our best
we're not the ones who need to be assuaged
and yet you know that we've the weather gauged

storms come and go and what's left is not sweet
the warmest greetings go to the worst sort
we aren't so sure that we've the proper meat
and yet we know that we won't be caught short
we think that we're entitled to some treat
but we are not the ones with friends at court
evening must spread to one and all her balm
we know this and we know we must be calm