Mischievous to leave so much to the imagination
The sun on the fenlands was always joyous
And then
Wars happen everywhere don’t they?
People lose their minds or have their minds
Taken away
Manipulated by overt forces that might…
No I don’t expect so
Good intentions seem so far away now
Over the grey horizon from where you
Half returned
From where innocent men don’t return at all
Unless by some stroke of luck
Their naivety helps them choose to avoid engagement
Don’t ask me next time, ok? Find someone else to do your…
Hey! Are you listening? How can you laugh at such a time
Always conniving those two
You wouldn’t wonder what they’ve…
And to their own, if I’m not mistaken
You owe me remember
Always available you said, now listen to you
They let the others carry their burden
Hunched shoulders; hunchback I shouldn’t wonder
It’s worry that does it, better not to know
You are right
It is better not ever to know
I took the quiet road, out over the hayrack, past the derelict cottages along Suburbia way. The library was empty, the books all turned to dust. Only the little ones understood, understood enough, still to play.
The bells are silent
Still; still hanging but silent
Their ropes are worn thin with worry
Those last few years were ever busy
Old stones grow older with the rain
Thank heavens for the seasons
The waters edge is endless
Without salt or sand to hold back the forces of wind and sun
Without salt or sand to hold up the heavier weights of life
With nowhere to fly to, nor new life to deliver, our job here is done. Still the cases might as well be unloaded; the quiet road is subsided, even the cart tracks have fallen. We ought though to stay around. No one must ever know.
It isn't right, you know that don't you
Look, not so loud - but go on, tell me, who pulled the trigger?
And what did he do anyway, to bring such disgrace to bear
It had to be, he was beyond reproach
Too big, for his own, and his brothers boots
Too full of himself, to even half way understand
Keep your head down, stay quiet; do not get involved or embroiled
Walk out to the waters edge; but go no further
The sulphurous sun, might once more burn your wet webbed feet
Into the grey sky, without a colour for guidance
Or differentiation beyond the lines of convergence
That began in the tiles under my feet
And travelled under the tired toes of the refugee
As he ambled up and down; until the time to go
