soul of the age

 where shadows hide the truth from normal eyes
a sort of fear that comes when we're in light
we worry about terrorists and spies

familiar face turns out to be disguise
there's absence of alarm through the long night
where shadows hide the truth from normal eyes

each one who sells requires the one who buys
what chance there is of change is truly slight
we worry about terrorists and spies

not one pays heed to the dark victim's cries
we're certain that our choices come out right
where shadows hide the truth from normal eyes

we have to cling to the false enterprise
for all that its true fuel is mere spite
we worry about terrorists and spies

there is no truth behind the buzzing lies
only the boasts and claims of storied might
where shadows hide the truth from normal eyes
we worry about terrorists and spies

behind the partial wall

 

catching the gleam then thrown into the past
a cloudless day but still filled up with cold
not one thing here of all that we foretold
out with the ash all history's been cast
strange flags may fly atop the highest mast
while shiny plastic's taken for pure gold
but that's not all not one who shall grow old
can doubt that there is certainty at last
we dive through hells but never find our goal
heavens above provide us with no sign
yet faintest shadows are emblems of hope
what happens in the end is not the role
we saw ourselves in still the glass of wine
provides some compensation for the rope

the breathing of monkeys

 symbols and drums behind the working band
our sort of people cannnot find their place
there's not a thing that comes swifter to hand
symbols and drums behind the working band

we find ourselves upon no golden strand
lacking in life true speed and honest grace
symbols and drums behind the working band
our sort of people cannot find their place

honour and joy reflected in each face
given the purpose who would flee the cause
shoes will fall off if you don't tie the lace
honour and joy reflected in each face

we're not the ones who occupy the space
and then complain of all the chinks and flaws
honour and joy reflected in each face
given the purpose who would flee the cause

well ended each awaits the rich applause
deserved by those who beautify the air
in deepest winter we might fear the thaws
well ended each awaits the rich applause

choosing to hate the ones who write the laws
cupboards and minds both turn out to be bare
well ended each awaits the rich applause
deserved by those who beautify the air

we feel the cold when blinded by the glare
the message has to pass from hand to hand
who does not speak must still announce his care
we feel the cold when blinded by the glare

the drums are sounded in the village square
silence will flee the lion-haunted land
we feel the cold when blinded by the glare
the message has to pass from hand to hand