dream in deep drought

 those are the boundaries we have to pass
so that we reach the land where fruit hang low
where summer's long and all the rivers slow
and little purple flowers dot the grass
you might describe our old desire as crass
and all we want as not quite à propos
you are the one who is supposed to know
when we are dull or if we're clear as glass
on this hard side all the creek beds are dry
and not one blossom has yet shown its face
but we are all convinced there's time to spare
beneath the clear and hard bell of the sky
when each of us can shape a human space
and not sink in to one last dark despair

this is an age

 there is so much that i have to discover
that i regret each moment lost to sleep
each second given to that simple cheap

loss of the self letting the mind hover
between the places where life is so steep
there is so much that i have to discover

what moment makes of me a lover
allowing my small heart to make and keep
the very things that matter and are deep
there is so much that i have to discover

more life more or less

in the republic no serf fears to speak
but the bright hero need not listen hard
there are no weapons given to the weak

these are not memories that we should seek
nor are there ways that should have been unbarred
in the republic no serf fears to speak

a short bright moment's given to the meek
but all pay homage to the blonde retard
there are no weapons given to the weak

a golden statue's raised upon the peak
to honour those whom we call avant-garde
in the republic no serf fears to speak

we claim the future never could be bleak
nor your bright visage ever could be marred
there are no weapons given to the weak

the whole endeavour's safe from all critique
we do not think that anyone's been scarred
in the republic no serf fears to speak
there are no weapons given to the weak