The running scared multitude Now wish they did Believe in God For somebody to blame For not playing the game Calling crawlers in Thy Name. It's all cheese talk Among mice: Nice is not faith And nasty is the outcome Of lethargy that has no name Now greed is tired And arranging reality Has gone wrong.

One finds it difficult To live with oneself these days And nights Of meaningless stressfulness. The sun shines but we must fear Its over heating The rains come down in torrents But its not enough Like money Mistaken, for the water of Life Cannot be metered out For cash Locked in a tetanus Lockjawed we cannot speak, Perhaps we caught it On the thorn beneath the rose We ravished with desire Possession deluded Always becomes possessed Of the rose itself? Oh no not that Only the dead shorn stem The bloom blow of petals gone

The chatter of magpies in the sky Running scared Won't inflate that souffle that was Windy as whether cocks in conviction Worth nothing but airs Thoroughly ratterling the shutters Which stay revival shut,,,. Sad news so monotonous it's boring awful There is a tide in the affairs of men Which has gone out Not to reflood again the same: The spirit will revive But not return As a twinkle of till ringing Creation input in place of output.

Faith is meaning it will Confidence is finding you can Faith can be lost But cannot fail The other may not stay the distance

This is terminal: O such knowing nonsense Our damned designer rationalising, What the hell is that anyhow anyway? Two plus two maybe do make four But the seeds of the mystery lie In perceiving how many make five. Unpossessing imposition Of desire upon itSelf: The Shadow thrown never goes away However fast wherever you may run Sticking to your Achilles heel So blindly guarded so guardedly That tender tendon snaps continuously Maiming your humanity The meek might if that they can be Inherit the Earth: The mice will not Sneak in squeaking Protest demanding Liberty to be liberteen Equality that isn't Fraternity that's fraud Now we must become Bigger in Spirit To Be again.

Furies fighting its Self Reversed in the looking glass Smashing the mirrored Maddening reflection, Bleeding to death For rebirth On broken glass Which cannot reflect Anymore.

Would the nightingale's song Sound so lovely so forlorn, Would it be sung at all? Were we not there to hear, To feel the longing Mirrored wondrous woeful In its singing: A question we are bound to beg Glad of luck to be so lonely Solitary to hear it Illuminate our darkness With exquisite despair

The flood of ebbing Make-believing Belief has gone Stranding mudlarks In their mire Flapping flipping flopping Blaming the cold moon For sucking out the tide's Timeless recycle of event We await a new tide Not old sewage But new water to wash away The new lamps for old Age-old swindle Inside Aladdin's Cave.

Waiting for us Patient as eternity To realise it's unconciousness ItsSelf: Eden run to blind bewilderness Innocence gone In knowing naivety or piety Opinion without judgement Bigotry beyond belief Blaming the light For being too bright To see it's Shadow.