Intelligence report

I know the secrets and I may not tell
you what I know, for fear that alien eyes
connect the dots to fact from pure surmise.
The penalty for speaking is pure hell;
we must keep silence, enemies repel,
lest our great acts the multitude despise.
Facts are protected with a guard of lies;
I speak no truths, they have muffled my bell.
No one who speaks, I say, can truly know
all that we understand about those folk.
I speak with kindness, I could not be cruel
but nothing I can say could make things go
any better. The fear of foreign yoke
requires that on the fire we cast more fuel.

in the mirror

where there are echoes we may not assume
that they come only from a distant place
we have no power to understand or trace
what happens in the world beyond this room
we strive to grasp it all the whole the cume
of knowledge that we hide behind each face
in fear that the alternative's disgrace
when the plane passes there is a loud boom
now what we are is little more than part
of the great story but for us the fact
that we are here is what really matters
survival is our purpose and our art
we say this honestly and without tact
for a dark power at the front door batters

seeing it through

we can't avoid the fluff or the mistake
a truth well told must satisfy the heart
the rule requires that we must play our part

we aren't allowed more than an honest shake
and will be penalised for each false start
we can't avoid the fluff or the mistake

each brittle human soul must in time flake
we fade away because we play our part
we slowly vanish from the old sea chart
we can't avoid the fluff or the mistake

no one exists alone

meaning is not inherent in the sound
we understand much more than we can say
each of us holds a tiny plot of ground

there's nothing here that you would not propound
the journey's less important than the way
meaning is not inherent in the sound

the tallest mountain's no more than a mound
which we may cross at any time of day
each of us holds a tiny plot of ground

the truth is neither simple nor profound
we are not ones who in this place may stay
meaning is not inherent in the sound

we may not look at what is left around
unless from the straight path we mean to stray
each of us holds a tiny plot of ground

nothing remains that will the few astound
who come to work and halt a while to play
meaning is not inherent in the sound
each of us holds a tiny plot of ground

an ancient terror

a lion roaring in the sultry night
produces fears that we had long forgot
fears of inhabiting a tiny plot
of having a huge mouth as final sight
of dying first of a gigantic fright
and being left on the hot plain to rot
in some remote and swift-forgotten spot
an echo of some early mortal plight
who dares to struggle knows that he may lose
but still insists on facing down the foe
for honour's sake not for the noble strife
we place our feet in such a great one's shoes
driven by just an urge to feel and know
whatever purpose there might be in life

The masters speak

There is one rule that we must here obey
to win the prize and let our spirits fly
above the common sort beneath our sky,
the ones on whom we the more lucky prey.
They are our food, we can't just let them stray
over the earth. We'd just be getting by
when we should be above them, soaring high
and clouding their most ordinary day.
Otherwise, from all fetters we are free
to lie like deviant angels while the sons
and daughters of the people merely weep
as on each solemn grave they plant a tree.
We are the noblest sort, for we're the ones
who fly in comfort while the many creep.

Profit before people

The poor don't count, we buy them at bulk rate
and they are grateful for a mouldy crust
dropped in the gutter, they're lower than dust
and should when we can do it be shipped freight.
It's not that we these humble beings hate
but that our swords unblooded sit and rust
and there's no outlet for our great bloodlust,
so we just slaughter them and call it fate.
Our enemy was a mere petty despot
who quaked whenever he heard our swift planes,
but it was easy on him to pin a crime.
So now poor folk are dying out in Mespot
in order that our glory never wanes
and we preserve our greatness for all time.