this is the day when we may bless the sun
no cloud can daunt us once we're through the
night
for on this morning all our good is won
the long dark course of horror has been run
so now we have true clarity of sight
this is the day when we may bless the sun
not as our whip for that time is now done
but as an honest beneficent light
for on this morning all our good is won
we must make real the tales that once we spun
around the fire to keep our spirits bright
this is the day when we may bless the sun
for now there is no fear of lance or gun
since we may dance in our masters' despite
for on this morning all our good is won
service to past and future we won't shun
nor ever drop from memory the long fight
this is the day when we may bless the sun
for on this morning all our good is won
the
deepest silence comes right after rain
just
before nightfall when the milky light
seems
full of portents while your straining sight
catches
some glimpse of homing bird seen plain
at
the right moment when the skies attain
that
perfect colour fading fast from bright
just
north of where begins the rule of night
to
make us sigh now that is what we gain
here
in the kingdom where no fools may rule
there
is contentment earned at a high cost
by
those of us who know not what we pay
nor
understand the lessons of this school
until
we find the gifts we thought long lost
and
on a sudden learn we're on the way
our choices leave us little room to spare
as day and night in sequence go by fast
no decent case of dignity to wear
and vision that suggests more cause to fear
in the cold present than in the dim past
our choices leave us little room to spare
for reprehension at the sullen year
that it has been the truth is all miscast
no decent case of dignity to wear
we're
all frustrated all thrown in despair
all fearful we will hear the final blast
our choices leave us little room to spare
for any of the goods that we should bear
since our great goal will never be surpassed
no decent case of dignity to wear
when we confront the enemy or dare
the final gate that victory's the last
our choices leave us little room to spare
no decent case of dignity to wear
there is some magic in the changing sound
of music in the modulated touch
over the distance we have gained so much
crossing great waters at a single bound
while all the pains of the old hurt were
drowned
and honour met
just one step past the clutch
of oldest terrors we learn truth is such
a mighty gift yet one we may expound
our hope for progress turns right back to shame
when out of darkness we find naught but force
to hold us back and keep us from our right
when what is needed is but one bright flame
to serve as guide to set us back on course
reminding hearts that not all is in night
the choices that we make are most constrained
by all the history we do not know
the pain of truth and life that is not slow
but constant motion towards what was gained
by long ancestral struggle we attained
some measure of the fair but the true flow
of justice and of freedom will not grow
just from our acts much else must be ordained
no victory is final that we learn
from childhood on and every hill we reach
turns out to be just one below the peak
so we clomp upwards while the seasons burn
still wondering just what it is we teach
and what exactly is the prize we seek
where there's no echo from the outer range
of what was said before we turned for home
about the meanings both of choice and change
and what it means when we begin to roam
beyond the bounds of our accepted world
to those domains now hidden in the dark
where our free banners may at last unfurled
be flown above our heads as the great mark
of where we stand and what we mean to hold
upon the heights the point of what we do
when we have moved from warmth into the cold
and made our old place into something new
the truth of this is said without alarm
but your reply is what must give it charm
no matter what there's no reason to shout
with joy or anger since the rules are neat
and clear not heavy in this summer heat
we have no reason now for fear or doubt
just worry at the thought of coming drought
and utter silence in the noontime street
while on the air so many voices bleat
but none can tell us what it is about
upon the ground a shadow and a sign
of what the times have shown and what they mean
to those who read the signals straight and
plain
yet we are waiting since the shades align
to form a boundary just past the seen
where those inside may sigh for coming rain
there is no magic that can outpace wit
nor any spell to outdo normal pluck
still in the end we all are in the shit
you might expect things would ease up a bit
but what you find is that your feet are stuck
there is no magic that can outpace wit
but not a single line of yours will hit
just where you want so you are out of luck
still in the end we all are in the shit
not one of us is ever quite legit
as all our best hopes end up in the muck
there is no magic that can outpace wit
we get a win our thoughts begin to flit
towards good chance if things don't go amuck
still in the end we all are in the shit
no matter what we do despite our grit
the laws of nature just don't give a fuck
there is no magic that can outpace wit
still in the end we all are in the shit
no echo here just quiet and the bright
lamp of midday that flattens all below
with gentle touch that equals massive blow
and makes us all long for the cool of night
there's not a bird today seeking the height
the strongest beast is hiding from the glow
this day at least we wish to see the snow
soften the edges of this harshest sight
mind cannot waken to the meanest task
nor is there thought of music for the charge
when distance adds so much to every fear
it magnifies the words that each must ask
making the burdens that were small so large
but yet each basket when we look holds air
