mistaken decision

none left but those who won't pass through the door
leaders who give no great degrees of hope
a million hours of climbing up that slope
and still the choice is made to fight the war

you do those things that honest folk abhor
the rules are not the thing that matter most
to those for whom the magic is the boast
and still the choice is made to fight the war

a year or two before you see the score
shallow the thought of those who have to hide
but lesser even the rewards of pride
and still the choice is made to fight the war

there was a garden in that place before
you burned it down and left a wasteland sere
there was no need you had the time to spare
and still the choice is made to fight the war

you have to ask us to give so much more
although in truth there's never been the need
the monster speaks in hunger and in greed
and still the choice is made to fight the war

none can it seems an honest time restore
honour has been delivered to its grave
there is no decent moment left to save
and still the choice is made to fight the war

all our words add up to quiet

all our words add up to quiet
not a thought we have of sound
light and shade here do abound
the wise man's eternal diet

sing aloud and each may listen
hour on hour of meaning froze
into place by knots and bows
while outside the grass will glisten

each reply will come uncertain
nothing's left to random chance
any fool can learn the dance
well before the final curtain

fullest encounter

no giants left now for none else would dare
to raise these structures on the mountaintop
you see them and your heart comes to a stop
naught's left of man so high in the clean air

we climb the rocks and have no time to spare
while far below each farmer reaps his crop
each swift machete highest heads will lop
naught's left of man so high in the clean air

allow us for a moment just to stare
while over a low dam the stream will slop
our hearts are awed by sight of the long drop
naught's left of man so high in the clean air

we think a moment that life is not fair
and any innocent's soon for the chop
yet we must know as on the seat we flop
naught's left of man so high in the clean air

what we recall is our duty of care
while with another soul we wouldn't swop
just where we are for any task of shop
naught's left of man so high in the clean air