mistaken decision

 

none left but those who won't pass through the door
leaders who give no great degrees of hope
a million hours of climbing up that slope
and still the choice is made to fight the war

you do those things that honest folk abhor
the rules are not the thing that matter most
to those for whom the magic is the boast
and still the choice is made to fight the war

a year or two before you see the score
shallow the thought of those who have to hide
but lesser even the rewards of pride
and still the choice is made to fight the war

there was a garden in that place before
you burned it down and left a wasteland sere
there was no need you had the time to spare
and still the choice is made to fight the war

you have to ask us to give so much more
although in truth there's never been the need
the monster speaks in hunger and in greed
and still the choice is made to fight the war

none can it seems an honest time restore
honour has been delivered to its grave
there is no decent moment left to save
and still the choice is made to fight the war

a sort of balance

if we flow with the river none will drown
but none will see the run rise on the day
when the whole year combines to wash away
all that has kept us back and held us down
no one who struggles ought then just to frown
and demand that the anger cease and stay
but join with those who overcame the fray
and place on every head the golden crown
there are some victories that do not count
but those that matter have the higher price
still we who pay it know that any cost
could never equal the complete amount
nor be exact in total nor precise
to ever equal all that we have lost

treatment and assurance

a consciousness that can't be fully cured
teaches each one about the coming rift
what we are given is never assured

your choice is one to which you were inured
by powers of avarice and normal thrift
a consciousness that can't be fully cured

those other cousins who were halfway lured
and then found they had all been set adrift
what we are given is never assured

again you wonder what we have procured
and why the last departer loudly sniffed
a consciousness that can't be fully cured

distinct and painful each one that matured
no mortal spirit had received a lift
what we are given is never assured

so no man claims to have felt or endured
what you have thought was but a tiny gift
a consciousness that can't be fully cured
what we are given is never assured

proper obsequies

though bird as priest might soon officiate
at ceremonials of the dying sea
the heart is not in what is not to be
dark is the hour when things have turned out late
a moment sooner and we'd paid the freight
but none of the observers could agree
on which of all the sufferers could see
the meaning of the order of the state
no more the hope of those without a home
there lie in gardens no ancestral flower
but darlings of the morning are not there
so much to say about those who still roam
still to lament the passing of their hour
who cannot say that any left would dare

i do not need to mention

 

i do not need to mention what was said
about the battle that our fathers fought
so many of our kindred left for dead

those were the moments of the greatest dread
when from above the vultures swooped and sought
i do not need to mention what was said

out masters told us that we needed bread
but as we were the losers we'd get naught
so many of our kindred left for dead

the so-called hero was the swiftest sped
not even time to be hurt or distraught
i do not need to mention what was said

the word once written was not ever read
a bitter lesson we have now been taught
so many of our kindred left for dead

the hardest would was given to the head
it shook out every vestige of good thought
i do not need to mention what was said
so many of our kindred left for dead