the simplest truth

the road we travel's not the only road
but all the others are destroyed or barred
the message is for those who know the code
we pay for every effort for each yard
we take forward the truth is always hard
we see doors open and we see them close
the houses laid out in the neatest rows
from tragedy and pain there's no recourse
morning is just another passing hour
the future does not come on a white horse
there's no magician waiting in the tower

the weight we bear seems now the only load
some names and places have not yet been starred
there's not a prince who isn't a true toad
against the trickster no one stands on guard
the giant images are always marred
and sorrow's plainer than a largish nose
we tie the answers up in pretty bows
but do not have the best forms of discourse
for one who wants to stay within their bower
instead we're lost among the heath and gorse
there's no magician waiting in the tower

the pain we feel is just the greatest goad
each skin's been punctured by a flying shard
and no one's treasure is yet safely stowed
there is no visage that has not been scarred
by life or time there's never been regard
for calm or patience nor for plain repose
only for tawdry elements and shows
that are the signals and the pains of force
from which the wise and virtuous will cower
while the most evil never feel remorse
there's no magician waiting in the tower

prince you are not acquainted with the sourse
of all the pleasures from which we'll divorce
the happy few from the big worthless shower
few joys and satisfactions you'll endorse
for all that singers and poets get hoarse
there's no magician waiting in the tower