no secret wound

a perfect moon sinking towards the west
gigantic pearl concealed within the fog
we seek right now the opposite of rest

the eastern glow is not another jest
we're back to horrid day with heat and smog
a perfect moon sinking towards the west

not one of us acts at our own behest
we're sadder than the tiny croaking frog
we seek right now the opposite of rest

just one more cup and then we'll have the zest
to drag ourselves out of the sleepy bog
a perfect moon sinking towards the west

just as the fledgling has to leave the nest
so do our feet have to move at a jog
we seek right now the opposite of rest

we lie to ourselves saying it's the best
that could be done now even for a dog
a perfect moon sinking towards the west
we seek right now the opposite of rest

no diplomatic voice

across the river live the stranger folk
we cannot understand their normal speech
they will not yield to our most benign yoke

you see me here an ordinary bloke
but to their standards i can't hope to reach
across the river live the stranger folk

they do not know the tongue of ash and oak
nor can they read the words of thorn and beech
they will not yield to our most benign yoke

our darker sentiments we may not cloak
by seeming humbly to beg and beseech
across the river live the stranger folk

we say like stupid frogs they have to croak
on their fat herds we need so much to leech
they will not yield to our most benign yoke

on their hard language we now have to choke
they say to us we only shout and screech
across the river live the stranger folk
they will not yield to our most benign yoke

no time for tears

beneath the heavy weight of rock we sink
our minds are not so clear nor bodies strong
no facing ugly fate with happy song
we have no other choices so we think
of better times now we are past the brink
our only hope is not to suffer long
we join together with the fallen throng
regretting for short time the final drink
hidden in shadows there are no more ghosts
but that won't stop us calling out their names
only the fact that mouth and throat are dry
we've gone long pasts the last abandoned posts
there is no light save of some distant flames
and all above us now there is no sky

standing in one's shoes

beyond the wall there are no other laws
the grass is just as dry and just as old
we have no inkling of a nobler cause

the wisest teacher does not wield the tawse
but neither does he blow both hot and cold
beyond the wall there are no other laws

all truths just have to stick in many craws
that's ancient history or so we've been told
we have no inkling of a nobler cause

the best of motivations has its flaws
what we have bought others have not yet sold
beyond the wall there are no other laws

no tiger waits to grasp us in its jaws
and yet we seem afraid of being bold
we have no inkling of a nobler cause

each will demand most undeserved applause
simply for staying in the boring fold
beyond the wall there are no others laws
we have no inkling of a nobler cause

The map is not the territory

 Upon the map are all the magic places
where childhood dreams and adult hopes may meet
while radiant dragons lend us all their graces.

Who can forget the shining children's faces
given the chance those mighty ones to greet?
Upon the map are all the magic places.

We see great beings, unbound by stays and laces,
but tied to us by meanings still and sweet
while radiant dragons lend us all their graces;

not one of us the cherished chart misplaces
while we can climb the mountain with glad feet;
upon the map are all the magic places.

We'll meet one day the strange unhuman races
and walk together on the self-same street
while radiant dragons lend us all their graces.

Each of us knows that there are special cases
ensuring that our plans are incomplete;
upon the map are all the magic places,
while radiant dragons lend us all their graces.