more loud than thunder with its rumbling shout
is the clear voice that says the course is set
from west to east and there is none to let
down the lines nor to put the candles out
when storm's upon us rattling hard the spout
so half asleep and too late to regret
the cost of excess calm and price of sweat
we still confront the truth of pain and doubt
less certain that the world to which we'll wake
shall be the one in which we went to sleep
no matter what the colour of the skies
we live to understand the great mistake
to learn about just what we get to keep
and what to make of the long stream of lies
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