rainy thursday

 hidden our shadows by the fall of rain
your voices muted as the signals fade
there's no one left who we'd want to abstain

old leaves remember none of autumn's pain
the barest branches can promise no shade
hidden our shadows by the fall of rain

the meaning of it all is not arcane
it took a while to smooth and set the grade
there's no one left who we'd want to abstain

the decent worker is the slacker's bane
against all hope great armies are arrayed
hidden our shadows by the fall of rain

lovers may walk at evening down the lane
while wiser heads in slower courses stayed
there's no one left who we'd want to abstain

as drop by drop the water heads to plain
each will recall the times when they just played
hidden our shadows by the fall of rain
there's no one left who we'd want to abstain

the patience of a saint

so much would try the patience of a saint
and in the end no one on earth would care
since there would always be a sign of taint

the cure for age is one more lick of paint
it's never hard to make the seeming fair
so much would try the patience of a saint

you might with sentiment the truth acquaint
and with a single heave the matter dare
since there would always be a sign of taint

such tasks are not for the queasy or faint
nor the inhabitants of thinner air
so much would try the patience of a saint

the hero will not hear the least complaint
nor hearken to the ones who say beware
since there would always be a sign of taint

we will move eagerly lacking restraint
knowing that there is little time to spare
so much would try the patience of a saint
since there would always be a sign of taint

esoteric theory

if any honour's left after this crunch
there might be time to write another page
about the ways in which the good engage
but that would be too much for this sad bunch
their only standard is the killing punch
the measure of another dumber age
mistaking the old villain for a sage
while the sly rat has eaten all their lunch
so much is written by the foolish horde
about the means by which you reach the throne
but not a word about an honest art
they take the jester for the noblest lord
assume that what they think is what they own
and leave behind a rotten stinking heart

lush violins

 

a solemn closing to a sombre age
or so we hope when the last music's played
but no one sees the frenzy of backstage

some might with honesty the moment gauge
when the last fortress was to us betrayed
a solemn closing to a sombre age

this is the moment when we have to rage
as all the waters down the wall cascade
but no one sees the frenzy of backstage

we call the one with style the final mage
and grant no honours to the old and staid
a solemn closing to a a sombre age

what was once secret's now upon the page
you hope to silently retire and fade
but none one sees the frenzy of backstage

no one would hold this tiger in the cage
still not a fellow rushes up to aid
a solemn closing to a sombre age
but one one sees the frenzy of backstage

not being lost

a flame that flickers under the last glass
so much is heard of what we thought we knew
the choice was made to halt and not to pass
a flame that flickers under the last glass

all of the windows look out on the grass
and not one person pauses for the view
a flame that flickers under the last glass
so much is heard of what we thought we knew

as for the ones who told us they were through
we gave them what they asked for and they sang
not any music that had been made new
as for the ones who told us they were through

on a cold morning we might feel the dew
as having both a coldness and a tang
as for the ones who told us they were through
we gave them what they asked for and they sang

the door that closed has made the loudest clang
and frightened those who would have slept the night
the angry are awakened by the bang
the door that closed has made the loudest clang

the loser has been bitten by the fang
and given up without thought of a fight
the door that closed has made the loudest clang
and frightened those who would have slept the night

those who would speak have given up the right
they handed you the gold and kept the brass
knowing their options had become but slight
those who would speak had given up the right

the world is written up in black and white
and laws define the power of ruling class
those who would speak have given up the right
they handed you the gold and kept the brass