we did not know all that the words have said

in the dead past and what was on the wall

vivid in sunlight is now past recall

but not all meanings dwell amongst the dead

waiting for better times and less cold dread

to illustrate the human rise and fall

of hearts that circulate and do not stall

but pain and narrowness stay in the head

that was a different and a better mind

possessed by those who sought to build our hope

in concrete forms and who not thinking stealth

in any way a virtue felt the kind

were more equipped for climbing the long slope

towards a place where all would share the wealth

behind the house we see the jonquils blow

in the mild air when winter seems a lie

it is the time for all good things to grow

 

outside the breezes do not cease to flow

and clouds are scudding grey across the sky

behind the house we see the jonquils blow

 

so clearly yellow do those flowers show

they banish dullness and we can descry

it is the time for all good things to grow

 

life is so eager to get up and go

so energetic it could almost fly

behind the house we see the jonquils blow

 

returning from their sleep as if they know

we long for colour to delight each eye

it is the time for all good things to grow

 

in proper order this is nature's show

we only guide it then we smile and sigh

behind the house we see the jonquils blow

it is the time for all good things to grow

 there are no answers coming in the night

nor clarity in morning that is why

we seek for explanations on the fly

in earnest wish for ending of our plight

but nothing comes there is no vivid sight

all's grey and dullness settles on each eye

there's no firm sanity we can espy

the universe seems ordered by mere spite

when we were children we were told that cause

and effect followed by a straight decree

of nature's and the world was really plain

to adult eyes but now we have no laws

to follow and we find we are not free

since those who want to lead us are insane

 thunder declaring with a mighty noise

what we once knew but later chose to hide

believing we had so few other ploys

and only a small chance to save our pride

this was the the noble sound we came to hear

sublimest product of the engineer

of music there was the full weight of night

being lifted up around us the height

of passion reached in moments and the pace

of dragons felt as if it were their right

we knew it all and knew it all for grace

 

the calm the strain the skill that he deploys

marks the director as the truest guide

brimful of zest and  yet with equipoise

he knows he's got us all here for the ride

to turn us all at once to wolf and deer

and have a world of magic just appear

before our eyes without the power of sight

by mass effect of sound and not of light

no easy thing our plain lives to displace

a thousand voices is a tool of might

we knew it all and knew it all for grace

 

my eye is on the many girls and boys

in rank behind as all these worlds collide

what do they know how do they have such poise

in the great task in which they are allied

so much depends on voice bright and austere

all deeply human that is very clear

we have full understanding of the rite

and know the meaning all the words incite

into the sacred silence of this space

hope for escape from the old mortal plight

we knew it all and knew it all for grace

 

prince you have asked about that magic night

and how the mass of sound was got just right

across the world i tell you to your face

you had to be there darkness vanished quite

we knew it all and knew it all for grace

 already buds are forming on each tree

visible through the february mist

this sign of coming spring won't be dismissed

life makes to us its yearly guarantee

that after darkness comes the jubilee

while all of nature's colours still persist

and will explode the roadsides will be kissed

with  light again all life yearns to be free

in each heart hides a promissory note

from past to future valid for all time

worth all the stories that our folk have told

to be redeemed when we are called to vote

weighed in the balance and cleansed of all grime

for a true substance worth far more than gold

 what's meant is caring so deep into night

when fever drives me so far round the twist

i cannot be brought back without assist

yet when my mind is clear you are still bright

as summer noonday this is my best sight

of joyous wonder but the entire gist

of what i say is this that you exist

is total magic plus you set things right

this little gift of words is small return

for all those hours of complete devotion

for being there each time push came to shove

but words take time to make and each must learn

to take some time to gentle life's commotion

and know the meaning of what's truly love

 the miracle of winter blossoms bright

against dull ground and weeds so sharply green

this early in the year what can it mean

as we inspect the gutters in clear light

nobody questions the unusual sight

yet each must know exactly what is seen

still fools expect some force to intervene

and set the balance of all things just right

the world's upset and we have lost our way

among the mirrors that we set to trap

unwary minds and those with little sense

too many seem to think the whole thing's play

as we are drowning in our own dumb crap

unable to tell true act from pretense

 

 if asked what happened and there's no reply

that can be safely given that is true

do not evade the words that stick like glue

on your mouth's roof and just refuse to fly

where you most want them there's a reason why

your tongue's not obedient why you might rue

that former ease of discourse when askew

the complex facts make it so hard to lie

not now nor ever will the monster wait

to let you finish but will swiftly pounce

upon your weakest utterance and yell

that here's false coin pretending noble state

worth less than nothing for each tawdry ounce

you hear this all as clear as the noon bell

 those are the places that have lost their names

gaining thereby not even a tin piece

that some bright spark might give out of caprice

too keep hope going in the complex games

of pride and anger but there are few shames

that will get those who've been fucked just to cease

once they've been shown up for all time as geese

since they'd much rather go into the flames

all tortures will destroy those who are brave

no matter what they say but never mind

there are no secrets will be left intact

on this side of the shelter of the grave

hope will remain for those who still are kind

to all who know just how their world is wracked

 no echo here but silence tightly wound

upon the spindle of the rising year

has its effect on this our unburnt ground

where moths and spider in their turn appear

in pallid sheen with shadows most austere

our voices falter we do not belong

in place or time when memories are strong

 

ears are alert for the first human sound

for that one thing that we might hold most dear

explaining why the quiet is so profound

and why each heart must feel the touch of fear

before new day but nothing will come clear

the birds are sleeping this night will last long

cold hours must pass before we hear their song

 

there's no one present to teach or expound

those complex riddles about which we care

such folk of comfort are never around

when there's a nasty chill upon the air

or complications in the great affair

they simply vanish still if we prolong

our patient waiting dawn will strike the gong

 

some proper answer remains to be found

the process seeming almost cavalier

it being grasped and purposed on rebound

seeming to be the waste of a career

but those who cannot feel have yet to hear

the truth of where they are and we belong

in proper place to right all that went wrong