The Little People
They build no burial mounds for us
They sing no songs, they make no fuss
Our lives and names forgotten, our stories lost
No matter what we gave or what it cost
We are the faceless Great Unwashed
We suffer the weight, we carry the cross
We bear the burdens that bring honours to the faces
Of the vultures who’d never trade our places
Our blood built the roads, the walls, the temples
A cold memory long gone
Our bones picked clean by rats who pose as eagles
But we go on......we are the little people
Only the moon and the stars know our names
They’ve watched over the wars, the famines, the floods and the flames
The passing seasons, the cold and dark of winter
And the memories are a tree grown black and bitter
Our blood built the roads, the walls, the temples
In cold memories long gone
Our bones picked clean by rats disguised as eagles
But we go on......we are the little people
Our hopes and dreams have amounted to nought
Despite all the promises and all of the lies we’re that taught
But our backs grow strong from the bark and the blackened root
Of the bitter tree that bears a crimson fruit
Our blood built the roads, the walls, the temples
A cold memory long gone
Our blood drained clear by rats disguised as eagles
But we go on......we are the little people
Our bones built the empires and the temples
In cold memories long gone
Our flesh and bones devoured by rats proclaimed as eagles
But we go on
In the dust where we belong
We are the little people
The Real Surreal
Hey, can you hear me?
I’m the future you and I’m not where I wanna be
Times are hard and we’re all at sea
Hey there, are you listening? The future’s here and I’m resisting
Times are strange and our words are twisting
Nothing here is what it feels
The truth is a fiction, the real surreal
So when you get here, whatever else you do
Just ride the wave, let it all crash under you
Hey, it’s getting hot in here.
Changes in the atmosphere.
True intentions becoming clear
Help me! Get me out of there!
There’s a lot more than simply fear to fear
The strain is becoming more than a man can bear
Nothing here is what it seems
A perfect nightmare where truth is a dream
So when you get here, whatever else you do
Just ride the wave, let it all crash under you
Hesitance, passivity, indolence, conformity
Dissonance and tyranny, group-think, obsession and stupidity
Demagogues, fantasy, belligerence, duality
Bitterness, vicious opportunity, despots with nuclear delivery
Hysteria, incongruity, false gods and cognitive calamity
Indifference, brutality, the grand prize: Orwellian reality
Nothing here is what it feels
The truth is a fiction, the real surreal
So when you get here, whatever else you do
Just ride the wave, let it all crash around you
Bring the Pain
It should come to us as no surprise
That we are all the authors of our own demise
We’ve burned the forests, drained the lakes, raised the walls
All for some and none for all
We’ve spent our best years feeding a pointless poor man’s greed
Working jobs we hate to pay for things that we don’t need
We’ve traded all the old gods for ourselves
But instead of dreams we’re grieving
The ship is going down and the rats are already leaving
When the clock strikes midnight, when the guillotine blade falls
To whom shall we pray? To whom shall we crawl?
Will we wander like lost souls upon the spectral plain?
You can bring the hubris and I will bring the pain
When we’re laid upon the scales, when God rings up the till
Will we do more than just watch the dust of humankind
Gather on the sill?
Or will we wander like lost souls upon the spectral plain?
You bring the delusion and I will bring the pain
My Own Drum
Harsh are the conditions and difficult the road
Blind are the decisions and treacherous the load
I am not afraid of the mistakes that I have made
Of anything I have or have not done
But till earth and heaven meet and the great wheel is complete
As long as I have feet I will march to the beat of my own drum
Cowards feigning righteousness because they fear to feel
Tyrants claiming victimhood because they fear the steel
I am not afraid of those who would enslave
Our thoughts before they’ve even left our tongues
But I will let them bleat along with all the other sheep
And as long as I have feet I will march to the beat of my own drum
I will not refrain, withhold or abstain
I’ll eat the fear and chase the setting sun
To where earth and heaven meet and the great wheel is complete
As long as I have feet I will dance to the beat
Of my own drum
Does it ever feel like all you’re doing
Is chasing shadows in the shade?
Like all of this is simply a distraction
And life a masquerade?
Easy is misfortune, elusive success
Many are the critics, few and far between the truly blessed
I am not resigned to a seat amongst the blind
To reason with the deaf and appease the dumb
But till earth and heaven meet and the great wheel is complete
I will not retreat, but will focus on the beat ...
I am not afraid of the weave the Fates have made
The fabric of love lost or pain to come
But I will keep the beat that pounds from my heart to my feet
And if the song that’s sung today is not a song I want to play
I’ll write my own one
All I Can Bleed
I’m supposed to be the anchor that keeps you safe in stormy seas
The mighty, towering kauri who stands above the other trees
I’m supposed to be the rocks upon which your wave can break
The one whom no matter what you do, will never give up or forsake
I’m supposed to be your armour and the shield that’s in your hand
I’m supposed to be the riddle that only you can understand
I’m supposed to be the branch that will bend but never break
But my leaves and bark are stripped and there’s nothing left to take
I’m supposed to be the tower that you run to when you’re scared
The one who, no matter where you are, will always come prepared
I’m supposed to be the mountain that only those you love can summit
I’m supposed to be the cliff top from which those who’d hurt you will always plummet
I’m supposed to be your castle when the bogeyman attacks
Your fortress when the vicious words are spoken
But my powder mag is empty and my cannons have been spiked
My walls are breached and my gates are broken
I’m supposed to be your haven and your shelter from the storm
The hands that tuck you at night and the bed that keeps you warm
But I’m staring down a barrel, alone here in the dark
Wondering if a bullet would kill the demons in my heart
I’m supposed to be the whisper that only you can ever hear
So quiet and so gentle, I could almost not be there
And I’m trying - in my broken way - to be the man you need
So I’ll stay here taking punches till I’ve bled all I can bleed
The Enemy Within
I am the wound that never heals, I am the bow that never bends
I’m the tale that no-one tells and the book that never ends
I am the storm that never settles and the day that never dawns
I am the plot that never twists, the seed that never spawns
I am the rumour of the party and the orgy on a yacht
I’m the billionaire who grieves for that ten cents he hasn’t got
I’m the lie that stays unspoken and the promise never kept
I am the void you’ll never fill, the dust and stink and sweat
I’m the disciple full of passion who bleeds out in the dirt
I am the pain that breaks your heart, the words of love you never heard
I’m the monster you pretend you don’t know hides inside your roof
This is the truth...this is the truth...this is the truth
I am the father who forgot to live, so tries to through his son
And ties him up in knots so tight, that they may never come undone
I am the ogre spinning poetry of unrequited love
I am the rebel who enlists and shaves his head and smells the glove
I’m the child who vows he won’t be like his folks (one day he will)
I’m the bard without a tune and the assassin who can’t kill
I’m the outlaw in the temple, hiding from the law
I am the witness who stands up and swears of things he never saw
I’m the wrestler and the addict too broken to retire
I am the elderly in custody refusing to expire
I’m Lassie and Old Yeller dreaming of Duluth
This is the truth...this is the truth...this is the truth
I am the preacher in the pulpit who just doesn’t quite believe
I am Penelope in mourning with the shroud she’ll never weave
I’m the fear that lies beside you and gropes you in the dark
I’m the fever you can’t break and the clouds that never part
I am the river that runs dry and the thief you think you know
I am the weight that pulls you under when they told you to let go
I’m the fighter who’s unsure if he’ll survive another bout
I’m the dwarf who won’t be taken in, but can’t be taken out
I’m the priest who preys on children and eviscerates their souls
Who blasphemes the name of God with every blessing he bestows
I’m the conflict profiteer who pulls the strings and writes the story
Crying dulce et decorum est pro patria mori
It’s the truth
I am the empire preaching freedom from the throne of slavery
I’m the hopeless glued to couches hoping fame will set them free
I’m the Fairy Queen in anguish coz she cannot lift the curse
I am the dogs of war let slip too soon and cannot be reversed
I am the girl who thinks she’s worthless – with no talent but her tongue
I’m the wife who hates her husband and lusts after his son
I am the teacher and the scribe who can’t remember where he’s been
I’m not the enemies without – I’m the enemy within
I’m the Ghost of Gypsy Davy getting high with Old Tom Joad
Sniffing napalm in the morning on the long and winding road
I’m the lure of retribution and the arrogance of youth
This is the truth...this is the truth...this is the truth
Crossing the Rubicon
You look like you belong here, but who’d ever know
The makeup’s fading
There’s cracks beginning to show
And soon, too soon it’ll be your turn
Do you believe things can only get better?
That all the pieces can fall into place?
See what you become when you step out into the Rubicon
Where you can’t fear, you can’t fall and you can’t change
You look like you were born here, born with something to prove
Chips on your shoulder
Nothing to lose, but everything
And soon, too soon it’ll be your time
Do you believe things can only get better?
That all the pieces will fall into place?
See what you become when you step out into the Rubicon
Where you can’t fear, you can’t fall and you can’t change
And if the story’s already written
We can still read from a different page
And when there’s nothing left to hold the words together
Love can write our way
In the end, nothing endures forever and all a man can do is his best
Win or lose, abuser or abused, the chips lie as they fall
Alea iacta est
The Ballad of Frosty Jack
A deathly chill creeps through the window - a hoar frost in July
The very air you breath is frozen and you can’t see the sky
The waxeyes sit in silence - feet frozen to the branches
Mother prays and holds her children close
Father stokes the fire where promise flickers and hope dances
Footpaths lie in wait - slick with morgul ice.
Mountains slumber - blanketed with snow
Families wrap themselves in every layer they can find
But the roads are closed - there’s nowhere to go
Like the razor drawn too slowly across muscles stretched too tight
Or the youth who lives in fear of growing old
The tension leaves you begging for the wound that sets you free
But in the end, no matter, you can never escape ... escape the cold
Like a problem you can’t admit to or a pain that you can’t describe
Like the womb that longs for children or the father that can’t provide
The love that you can’t remember feeds the hate that you can’t forget
Our souls dream of Summer, but in our hearts the fear of Winter never rests
Floorboards creak and pipes shiver, timbers bend and crack
The Heart of Darkness pulses and throbs to the icy Ballad of Frosty Jack
Every morning your fortitude is tested, every evening you drain the bottle dry
And as you lie in bed a chill creeps through the window
Is it the sum of all your fears, the end of all that you hold dear?
Is it the Reaper, or the Worm that never dies?
Or is it just a hoar frost in July?
Homecoming
Lying awake, long after midnight
Hoping for calm, tryin’ to control
Sinking in sweat, praying for daylight
Sick to the stomach from wounds of the soul
Will we dust off our dreams before they desert us?
And wander the hills that once nourished our souls?
I’m coming home - the only place I want to be
I’m coming home - the only one I still remember
I fell asleep with May, but I’ll wake in December
When I’ll be home, I’ll be free
Alone on the sea, a babe in the ocean
But that doesn’t mean there’s no harbour for you
Bound to the clock, you smell the martyrs burning
But it’s only smoke - there’s no warmth for you
Every day we taste a little more of the future
Every day we die just a little bit more
I’m coming home - the only one I’ll ever need
I’m coming home - the only one I still remember
I fell asleep with May, but I’ll wake in December
When I’ll be home, I’ll be free