there's little room for laughter nor for wit

in a beige room with a good downtown view

learning that not all good comes with the new

and breathing in the scents of bile and shit

you learn then all  the signals of hard grit

but night and day someone must turn the screw

the pain will come as much as you are due

and you must sleep now for a little bit

love is sustained upon a sea of tears

though brotherhood itself may seem to fail

in curtest questions still you can draw breath

surprise yourself that you withstood your fears

and are arrived to laugh about this tale

since by a hair you walked away from death

mischief is made by those who hate all peace

and want us all within hard walls and gates

with loudest words and after harsh debates

they'll order silence and demand we cease

turbulent thoughts that challenge their caprice

command each soul into narrow estates

and keep each heart distinct from its best mates

just so that love and light may both decrease

they call it summer when they see it snow

mistake  the cold for some redeeming balm

and bid us all accept the freezing rain

out of the north claiming they see it glow

with ready warmth they tell us all is calm

that all is gentle that we're past all pain

in no great haste to change the solemn art

that deals with those who cannot render ease

in modern terms we make a florid start

presenting our regards upon our knees

as if our thoughts were villain amputees

regarding with some horror how the strain

of vision reaching through this veil of rain

has no effect on motion nor on rate

all in the end must seep into the brain

where only losers claim to lead the state

 

both rich and poor rub shoulders in the mart

while finding nothing that could truly please

an honest mind or else a yearning heart

since all the market has is hopping fleas

and some lost objects baking in the breeze

there's not a single value to retain

and all our hope might just go down the drain

as laughing gargoyles seem to contemplate

you cannot speak except now to complain

where only losers claim to lead the state

 

no one today would ever give a fart

for decent laws or honest high decrees

the vultures wait until the wolves depart

then each devours the carrion that it sees

there's no means left the monster to appease

just throw another turd upon the wain

since we have read the signal very plain

the door is shut and rescue's come too late

all that is left is one more ugly stain

where only losers claim to lead the state

 

prince as you look out from the morning train

you'll see the same old shadow once again

don't think of it as duty nor as fate

that's just a path that leads you to more pain

where only losers claim to lead the state

pale yellow blooms under a silver tree

out of a legend that we do not know

this warm reminder with its pallid glow

 

absent all anger absent too all glee

for a short season we absorb the show

pale yellow blooms under a silver tree

 

so magic fills the air and what we see

is all the ground covered in golden snow

a lovely moment if we let it be

pale yellow blooms under a silver tree

a moment's vision just a little nudge

of seeing what the normal eye can't see

in moving time just so we might agree

on one fast rule but no you will not budge

from  that position nor will you begrudge

what we assume is given us for free

to stay or go just so each has to be

the honest broker and the silent judge

this course of pain is now so well begun

you take the measure and devise a trap

knowing that soon the true moment will come

since each desire has in us one swift run

a journey noted well upon the map

and valued now at a gigantic sum

i miss the master of the golden house

who has gone down to view the changing tide

or so i'm told perhaps to soothe my pride

for some new message now i must espouse

before the last new flame we have to douse

in the new dawn there is no place to hide

this anger at being taken for a ride

or knowledge that i'm smaller than a mouse

vision is lost the message all unsent

when signal flame no longer seems to  leap

above the hills nor on the mountain peak

can any see just where the last word went

now no one has a single hearth to keep

and in the clamour none would dare to speak

we miss the mark by blaming modern haste

for all the losses that the old declare

since time's the one thing that we cannot waste

 

why bother waiting when the one abased

will be revenged when none is left to care

we miss the mark by blaming modern taste

 

instead of noting that the old displaced

was most unkind and never was quite fair

since time's the one thing that we cannot waste

 

you ought to leave at once before the taste

of anger drives our guardians all spare

we miss  the mark by blaming modern taste

 

for those disasters that our kind have faced

the dirty magics came on unaware

since time's the one thing that we cannot waste

 

burning our feet showing our gems were paste

leaving behind only a haze in air

we miss the mark by blaming modern haste

since time's the one thing that we cannot waste

a meeting graven deep in the recall

so scents and colours you cannot repress

the place the time all seem to coalesce

the heat was summer but the season fall

and from this distance no detail is small

since paths were crossed and cannot now regress

back out of meaning life itself must bless

what we have been and forbid us to bawl

now roads will take us far but not so far

that voices cannot take us back in time

to where the light first taught us how to touch

our minds to plastic shapes that had no scar

before to hope was made a sort of crime

and any knowledge had become too much

the dark disaster broken by harsh light

patter of voices sound of running feet

these lives that ended they were not so sweet

that does not matter for we had no right

to trample these brief hopes in the hot night

ignoring the short cry of mi nu dweet

the blotless orders always seem so neat

not so the blood and ordure in our sight

the noble man no brute can't bear the blame

see how the sorrow weighs upon his face

adding it seems another dozen years

we will not think of yet another name

the one whose presence we can't seem to trace

who sums up all our terrors and our fears

what tears were shed we never have to ask

nor need to see the terrors or the pains

the horror of the years the heavy chains

we know the reasons and we had the task

to break them off nor do we want to bask

in one moment's approval these old stains

have yet to fade and so much yet remains

of all the sorrow that you had to mask

now use the word and give the song full voice

do not let memory fade into a dim

and distant sort of half-forgotten past

but now's the moment to shout and rejoice

turn agony and anger to a hymn

and know that evil was not made to last