Jul. 30th, 2007

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
each entry in the list provides new tools
a fact though hidden and supressed remains
the year will be much older when it cools
each entry in the list provides new tools

this is the sort of thing they keep from schools
no need to trouble any infant brains
each entry in the list provides new tools
a fact though hidden and suppressed remains

we think that we have broken all our chains
but don't see those that end in every heart
rivers debouch on the low-lying plains
we think that we have broken all our chains

the body that was once youthful now strains
we keep on going only through our art
we think that we have broken all our chains
but don't see those that end in every heart

the end has been determined by the start
we did not know this when we made the rules
each hits the target with an angry dart
the end has been determined by the start

we come here but to play a minor part
if we don't understand this then we're fools
the end has been determined by the start
we did not know this when we made the rules
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
the standard is not woven into law
we want to see things done in just one way
and all completed by the end of day

there is no need for men with jutting jaw
to take command and to bestride the bay
the standard is not woven into law

memory reaches us with angry claw
this is not the rehearsal of some play
all is in earnest every thing we say
the standard is not woven into law

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

not one who asks will ever stop to think
the reason why we have to make the trip
nor why we move at a quite rapid clip
not every record has been kept in ink
we cannot pause to eat neither to drink
the fabric of the known will stretch and rip
we've got to reach the end with all our zip
the other choice would have us in the clink
speed hides from us the need for skill and tact
to make our journey safe and foothold sure
so we don't fall and crash in our great haste
we're always bound by the prevailing fact
to know our hearts and minds are never pure
and in the end all may be judged a waste

on the run

Jul. 30th, 2007 02:41 pm
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
tales of far places told by happy folk
keep purpose centred upon a plain goal
you've never sure exactly what the role
you're asked to play is what you must evoke
you cannot dance and if you sing you croak
you're no more handsome than the normal mole
and yet your hope is the same starry pole
you've always looked for even as a joke
a sullen face does not win any prize
so you must smile and ever bear the brunt
of others' laughter with an even look
let what you know be hidden by your eyes
and slight amusement always be your front
for all that you go strictly by the book

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
light pooled and puddled dappling the green trees
an echo of past times and happy thought
allows us to forget the day is fraught

with darkling horrors which our hearts would freeze
and leave us in our terror overwrought
light pooled and puddled dappling the green trees

the vision warms us with its hope of ease
we set aside our fears and think them naught
but passing evils in a cobweb caught
light pooled and puddled dappling the green trees
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
a sense of moment is not one of pride
feeling the power can say nothing at all
rats hear and then scurry and run to hide
a sense of moment is not one of pride

we never see the truth from the inside
nor do we answer if we hear a call
a sense of moment is not one of pride
feeling the power can say nothing at all

under the law we have no right to fall
within the bounds of any stable light
the only obligation is to stall
under the law we have no right to fall

our options come at last to just one small
acceptance of our necessary plight
under the law we have no right to fall
within the bounds of any stable light

redemption may not happen there is slight
chance that an ally may stand at our side
the choice is never simple day or night
redemption may not happen there is slight

ability to juggle honest right
reality is always pictured pied
redemption may not happen there is slight
chance that an ally may stand at our side
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

all pain we recall
echoes stronger than the tide
never water fire

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