between the voids

we come from nowhere and that's where we end
what's in between is all of human joy
and all the pain that one life can deploy

facing the wind we either break or bend
the powers see each of us as one more toy
we come from nowhere and that's where we end

there is a message each of us must send
all that shall happen is no evil ploy
each overcomes those things that would annoy
we come from nowhere and that's where we end

Beyond the dragon hoard

We dig the ground to find diamonds and gold
but not for what they look like or they feel;
we judge the orange by more than its peel
and every story by the ones you've told.
Our love is not for stones or metals cold,
but things made new. Not iron ore but steel,
not fruit on tree, but as part of a meal;
to make the world is where we have been bold.
Not nature do we praise, but only art
that takes the raw and turns it ever true.
Then we won't whisper, we shall simply shout:
Release the power that hides within the heart,
give the old masters their fine, proper due,
and take good note before numbers run out.

fullest understanding

beyond the shadow
unnumbered worlds for taking
but so little time

experience speaks

we've come out now from under all that cloud
endurance and survival leave us proud
that after such a time we're still unbowed
above us in the night are strange new stars

we paid no heed to passages of time
to focus all our efforts is no crime
and yet we heard no ticking and no chime
above us in the night are strange new stars

we've struggled for our livings every pound
has been invested in a manner sound
and we have mapped out every bit of ground
above us in the night are strange new stars

we're not yet ready to receive the shroud
you give us reasons and we'll give you rhyme
our fates and yours are ever closely bound
above us in the night are strange new stars

now we've survived the anguish of long wars
and told our story in a thousand bars
we thought ourselves past all dangers and jars
above us in the night are strange new stars

evading grasp

too long a silence scarifies the heart
we dread the abyss that we know is there
after we've stripped the onion layer by layer
having been told that was our proper part
there's no way back down to the very start
our feet seem planted firmly in the air
with not an obligation are we square
and yet we seem to think we master art
the cloudy sky is pregnant with no rain
beneath us wells of justice have run dry
in autumn every tree is stubborn green
we lack a proper measure for the pain
that we have caused with every little lie
nor can we analyse what we have seen

sodden slime harmonious

there is no darker ground than this
we listen to the wind's wet hiss
a river rushes under trees
it goes in time to unknown seas
not one of us will pay the cost
of resurrecting what's been lost
hour after hour we face the stress
once there were giants now we're less
our hope is not to find the path
but just to reach the aftermath
the fields are stubble that we know
and like our hopes are lying low
upon our feet the heavy shoes
remind us that we're bound to lose
we look at time and think it daft
that success comes from work not craft
honour and decency are nice
but those who try them pay the price
good sense and all your sparkling wit
turn in the end to so much shit
we try to honour all the rules
while others laugh and call us fools
we do the work they call it luck
when with our futures they will fuck
we speak our minds they send out spies
to make us listen to their lies
now they've polluted every well
and turned our hope into a hell

awaking early looking east

the comet hanging over distant hills
presages nothing that we want to see
a dream of terror that won't ever be

the narrow scope of normal human wills
cannot find roots beneath the mystic tree
the comet hanging over distant hills

we do not know just what in power and skills
we'll need in those strange lands beyond the sea
there stands a sign commanding that we flee
the comet hanging over distant hills

we're irrelevant

we cannot tell the white cord from the black
all of our hope has gone into the fire
we're still constrained to stay right at the back

if you are honest you'll just get the sack
the one who wins is the outrageous liar
we cannot tell the white cord from the black

no winds are left to lurk within the sack
the statue cannot stand upon the spire
we're still constrained to stay right at the back

the truth is never what's told by the flack
nor what is sung by the most sweet-voiced choir
we cannot tell the white cord from the black

what once was profit now turns into lack
what once we hated now we most desire
we're still constrainted to stay right at the back

through densest bush a way we have to hack
only to find we've fallen in the mire
we cannot tell the white cord from the black
we're still constrained to stay right at the back

too late the dawn

we wait but cannot see the promised light
nights are so cold and the stars are so far
beyond our reach so our hands cannot mar
their icy beauty yet they're still in sight
our hope of reaching them is less than slight
we know that we can never cross the bar
we need the sun for neither moon nor star
can give us hope that what we see is right
it's summer-warm but i still feel the cold
above me malign shadows hold their place
the bomb goes off just as you light the fuse
once i have shivered i'll not feel so bold
as to believe i'll finish out the race
but cannot act as if i know i'll lose

so simple a gift

flowers in the median make me smile
their simple dance in the soft afternoon
seems like a special kindness or a boon

this memory i'll cherish a long while
for every winter arrives far too soon
flowers in the median make me smile

nature provides us all her grace and style
inside each heart a happy bird shall croon
and nectar pours out from a golden spoon
flowers in the median make me smile

the lessons of history

we think of justice as a simple matter
but then we lose all sense of proper cause
we see the diamond as nothing but flaws
and fear a single blow will make it shatter
yet fall quick prey to those who lie and flatter
giving them all our will without a pause
not giving thought to discipline or laws
then wonder why we're madder than a hatter
our thought does not move out on golden wings
nor are we of the human race the peak
but are compelled to do those things we must
we lack the reason of the fallen kings
cannot withstand the weapons of the weak
and in our turn will vanish into dust

steered by the thunderbolt

a river flows and doesn't ever pause
the principle's as subtle as rich life
all forward motion's a result of strife

inanimate and animate the laws
set out the rhythm like a drum and fife
a river flows and doesn't ever pause

doesn't matter how truly just the cause
reasons for failure always will be rife
success may come down to the naked knife
a river flows and doesn't ever pause

through a plain lens

behind the wall no hidden magics lurk
just other folk whose tasks are much the same
as those that drew you into the long game
there is no difference between wood and work
there are no monsters hiding in the murk
we make them up from our own guilt and shame
we do the crime and give others the blame
our hands are tight upon the secret dirk
a time will come when honesty and ruth
combine to force us to surrender tact
and face the consequence of each old lie
nothing can hurt as much as the plain truth
but there's no way to hide from simple fact
and fate's no tyrant underneath the sky

behind the cloud

we tell ourselves the most beguiling lies
while step by step we head towards the brink
the world's not real enough for our old eyes

no cavalry will ride down from the skies
and none of us remembers how to think
we tell ourselves the most beguiling lies

we blame all crime on saboteurs and spies
our minds cannot compass the missing link
the world's not real enough for our old eyes

we will not even praise the one who tries
to draw the message from the opaque ink
we tell ourselves the most beguiling lies

the one who answers is not one who buys
the silence and the knowing little wink
the world's not real enough for our old eyes

we cannot hearken to the one who cries
instead we bow our heads and sip our drink
we tell ourselves the most beguiling lies
the world's not real enough for our old eyes

profit or honour

beneath the hill the old kings still asleep
are waiting for a time that cannot come
are listening for a certain note of drum

that will at the same time be high and deep
meanwhile the forest turns into a slum
beneath the hill the old kings still asleep

we do not see the hungry monsters creep
nor do we hear their sullen quiet hum
instead we wait till we can add the sum
beneath the hill the old kings still asleep

seeking the self

you take a number but don't lose your name
and so you think you have in some way gained
the fear that i have cannot but be feigned

as far as you can see it's all the same
the world remains clean whole and unstained
you take a number but don't lose your name

you want to think that it's another game
the meaning of which may sometimes be strained
for in one box the whole thing is contained
you take a number but don't lose your name

a single leaf

a single leaf is history in green
our knowledge does not vanish into past
we are the sum of all that we have seen

there are some places where we have not been
nor have we served for years before the mast
a single leaf is history in green

once each of us hoped to be king or queen
not knowing into what streams we'd be cast
we are the sum of all that we have seen

in memory still bright we find the scene
when thought transfixed us making us stand fast
a single leaf is history in green

that moment when a single branch would lean
to show just where dramatic breeze had passed
we are the sum of all that we have seen

the world is still made up of things that mean
but nothing that we want can hope to last
a single leaf is history in green
we are the sum of all that we have seen

hitting the wall

there are bright words that come right off the tongue
but growing older they're so hard to find
those magics that expand the willing mind

the world's a simple place when you are young
your greatest fear is to be left behind
there are bright words that come right off the tongue

no one you think has sungof what you've sung
you're in a world of the lame halt and blind
and then too late you find yourself confined
there are bright words that come right off the tongue

what ought to happen

within the forest are no magic folk
we walk for hours and find no sign of elves
only the sounds of leaves and the odd croak

rain makes the past into the humus soak
more than bent backs reward the one who delves
within the forest are no magic folk

you'll soon turn out an ordinary bloke
no magic axe-heads will fly off the helves
only the sounds of leaves and the odd croak

no númenor nor wizard isle of roke
just the plain schools for ordinary selves
within the forest are no magic folk

we may incant and the dim fires stoke
but have no means of transcending ourselves
only the sounds of leaves and the odd croak

and so each head will bend under the yoke
the mystic trees turn into walls and shelves
within the forest are no magic folk
only the sound of leaves and the odd croak

how it goes on

i hear the voices of the noisy birds
they're at the old and truly magic dance
communication requires less than words

were they to congregate in flocks or herds
how else would each its pleasant cause advance
i hear the voices of the noisy birds

this principle the one that undergirds
all of our movements is not simple chance
communication requires less than words

we ask these questions seeming to be nerds
whose focus is on meaning not romance
i hear the voices of the noisy birds

life draws significance from all these surds
so much expressed in fractions of a glance
communication requires less than words

to get the truth of milk we need the curds
and so we need to watch these creatures prance
i hear the voices of the noisy birds
communication requires less than words