lower mathematics

a number that means something to us all
each of our lives is caught up in the sum
with all its magic we are still struck dumb

a host of worries waits for autumn's fall
still all of that is paid for by the plum
a number that means something to us all

we each say we are ready on the ball
but cannot under pressure just keep stum
the loudest of us just runs home to mum
a number that means something to us all

what has been sent

what handy chance we have now bent
all of our hearts are filled with light
to our faint hopes a strength is lent
what handy chance we have now bent

in time we know we'll strike the tent
and creep off silent into night
what handy chance we have now bent
all of our hearts are filled with light

The universe

All that counts, all that is real,
is that we know just where we are;
in grave immensity galaxies wheel,
all that counts, all that is real.

Not one of us can break the seal,
in every single heart there burns a star;
all that counts, all that is real,
is that we know just where we are.

an absence of symbols

who knew the answer mattered not a whit
the flight of birds has much to signify
in shifting letters crawling through the sky
we can't perceive them not a little bit
it's much too simple to fall into a snit
and say that every claim is just a lie
we let the symbols and the meanings fly
the sudden silence means the birds have writ
a lot of what we know is not real fact
just dreams that we've mistaken for the real
magic we've found does not tell us too much
the truth has been scratched out and blacked
not one of us who won't in the end squeal
and leave the ball just barely out of touch

midafternoon

the sun's whole weight is pressed upon my head
the pushing of the light holds me right in place
the strain is shown most clearly on my face

under bright sky there's no true room for dread
but we are forced to act with pleasant grace
the sun's whole weight is pressed upon my head

i could have chosen some lesser task instead
of going out and searching in this space
i'd let the heat and light weave and interlace
the sun's whole weight is pressed upon my head

glowing in the leaves

it isn't just a matter of good time
a judgment here is simply bizarre
down the sky's slope the sun must climb
it isn't just a matter of good time

we wonder at the value of a dime
a shilling these days will not take you far
it isn't just a matter of good time
a judgment here is simply bizarre

a matter of fact

if difference did not matter we would lie
the truth is always what we would least like
the other option's to get on your bike
and claim that you at least know how to try
however hard it may be to stand by
and watch as others the old buildings strike
you know that you have got to make the hike
the choice is always how to live and die
at what point will you learn just how to be
that is the question and the answer's wrong
it's where we're going that's the noble thing
the point of travel is that we don't flee
the trip may kill us but we would die strong
we simply must not hold the leading-string

an interrupted journey

I

life soaks into the ground with water
but we don't see it happen in the air
the reason is not one requiring care
an honest answer simply avoids slaughter

the anguish comes when we are most fair
a hundred reasons aren't enough for some
who knows the words has no need to hum
but each of us must have the gift of flair

not all of us can without effort strum
the correct chords to let our meaning flow
instead we'll bask in the musicians' glow
and smile when we can recognise the drum

a host of us might think or claim to know
the best way to announce our several needs
we want the fruits but did not sow the seeds
and so we call on you to lead the show

the ones who judge have no time for good deeds
enough that each of us can feel the pain
no answer comes to us in language plain
we flounder in our madness through the weeds

II

a kind of plan might form in the best mind
but that's no help to us in these sad days
we seek to hide from the suns cruel rays
but at the same time fear being left behind

the ones who do not kill us know our ways
the cruelest treatment is the softest touch
the rabbit's kept with pleasure in its hutch
and all unthinking dreams its owner plays

we seek to stay outside the monster's clutch
but life will drive us and we cannot stay
our hope is to avoid the standard way
and hope that our owners don't eat much

we claim that we are not much more than clay
but in each hearts there beats a higher claim
that we know more than's good for common shame
and feel a truth in the hot sun's sharp ray

and what in the end matters praise or blame
our minds are set on an unwavering course
we won't deny the basic truths of force
but in the end we'll think it all a game

the calming effect of music

night comes but not on silent little feet
the softening of the light suggests an end
watching the shadows we observe the trend

when the dusk comes its passing is not fleet
light still may reach us just around the bend
night comes but not on silent little feet

i watch a couple walking down the street
on such regularities we have to depend
change comes and we choose to pretend
night comes but not on silent little feet

Give me that FSM religion

All religionists get petty
when they see the great Spaghetti,
even Benedict gets sweaty
which is good enough for me!

Only some old Baptist poodle
wouldn't recognise the noodle
which the smart Bobby did doodle,
still that's good enough for me!

all the ages melt in anguish

in the days when we were trying
with some hope to reach the skies
we knew that some folk were dying
all because they believed lies

now we hear the same old story
and we don't know what to do
there's no honour and less glory
in this stinking devil's brew

in the distance we see fires
with their ghastly reddish glow
but our leaders the great liars
tell us that we just don't know

what the actual situation
is out there in distant land
how we must defend the nation
with the tools we have at hand

in the distance we hear noises
that proclaim the coming storms
we're told that dissenting voices
only injure proper norms

at the last we'll learn the reason
that the conflagration's spread
we will all be charged with treason
for the thoughts inside each head

there's no better time to speak out
as the sun sets in the west
our dear leader is a weak lout
and he's failed at the great test