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| The Least We Can Do Is Wave To Each Other |
1. Darkness (11/11)
Day dawns dark, it now numbers infinity.
Life crawls from the past, watching in wonder
I trace its patterns in me.
Tomorrow's tomorrow is birth again.
Boats burn the bridge in the fens;
the time of the past returns to my life
and uses it.
Don't blame me for the letters that may form in the sand;
don't look in my eyes, you may see all the numbers
that stretch in my sky and colour my hand.
Don't say that I'm wrong in imagining
that the voice of my life cannot sing.
Fate enters and talks in old words:
they amuse it.
Hands shine darkly and white;
only in dark do they appear.
Bless the baby born today,
flying in pitch, flying on fear.
They shine in my eyes and touch my face
where I have seen them placed before;
don't blame me, please, for the fate that falls:
I did not choose it.
I did not, no, no, I did not,
I truly did not choose it. |
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2. Refugees
North was somewhere years ago and cold:
Ice locked the people's hearts and made them old.
South was birth to pleasant lands, but dry...
I walked the waters' depths and played my mind.
East was dawn, coming alive in the golden sun:
the winds came gently, several heads became one
in the summertime, though august people sneered;
we were at peace, and we cheered.
We walked along, sometimes hand in hand,
between the thin lines marking sea and sand;
smiling very peacefully,
we began to notice that we could be free,
and we moved together to the West.
West is where all days will someday end,
where the colours turn from grey to gold,
and you can be with the friends.
And light flakes the golden clouds above;
West is Mike and Susie,
West is where I love.
There we shall spend our final days of our lives,
tell the same old stories... yeah well, at least we tried.
So into the West, smiles on our faces, we'll go;
oh, yes, and our apologies to those
who'll never really know the way.
We're refugees, walking away from the life
that we've known and loved;
nothing to do nor say, nowhere to stay;
now we are alone.
We're refugees, carrying all we own
in brown bags, tied up with string;
nothing to think, it doesn't mean a thing,
but we can be happy on our own.
West is Mike and Susie,
West is Mike and Susie.
West is where I love,
West is refugees' home. |
2. 亡命者たち
北はいずこか何年も前の冷たい土地
氷が人々の心を封じて年老わせる
南は喜びの地を生み出すところ、だが乾いている
僕は水の深みを歩いて心を躍らせた
東は夜明け、金色の太陽の中で生き返る
風がやさしくそよぎ、いくつもの頭を一つに束ねた
夏の最中、8月の民に笑われても
僕らは心安らかに喜び合った
僕らは時には手に手を取り
海と砂を分かつ細い線に沿って歩いて行った
穏やかに微笑みながら
いつか自由になれると気付き出し
皆一緒に西を目指した
西は全ての日々がやがて終わるところ
くすんだ灰色がきらめく黄金に変わり
友達とずっと一緒にいられるところ
浮かぶ雲を光が金色のまだらに染める
西はマイクとスージー
西は僕の大好きなところ
僕らはそこで人生の最後の日々を過ごし
同じ古い話を語り、ああ、少なくともそうしていたい
だから西へ、顔に笑みを浮かべて、僕らは行く
おお、道が分からなくなってしまった人には
誠に申し訳ないが
僕らは亡命者、慣れ親しんだ生活から歩き去って行く
何をするでも、何を言うでも、どこに留まるでもなく
僕らは孤独の身
僕らは亡命者、ひもでしばった茶色のかばんに全てを詰め込んで
考えることはなく、気にすることはなく
それでも満ち足りている
西はマイクとスージー
西はマイクとスージー
西は僕の大好きなところ
西は亡命者の土地 |
3. White Hammer
In the year 1486 the Malleus first appeared,
designed to kill all witchcraft and end the papal fears:
prescribing tortures to kill the Black Arts;
and the Hammer struck hard.
Malleus Maleficarum slaughtered and tortured
all those under suspicion, as the Inquisistion ordered -
burning black hearts and innocents alike, killing the mad;
such was the power the Hammer had.
Though Hexenhammer was intended to slay only evil,
fear and anger against magic overspilled:
they also killed those of the White.
So for two centuries and more they tried to slay
both the Black and the White Arts -
but spirits override pain.
For every one that the torture took, two were hid secure,
and so the craft endured.
Love and hate lived on in the face of fear,
Hexenhammer's force died,
and the real power became clear:
White Hammer no more is beaten; now it begins to beat,
and the Grey, once oppressor,
now, at good hands, faces defeat.
And the Black, too, shall bow down to the power above;
Black hate beats Grey
but supreme is
the White Hammer of Love. |
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4. Whatever would Robert have said?
I am the suck of air you take
that you've had many times before;
I am the blow you try to fake,
but which still throws you out the door;
I am the air that fills your lungs,
but leaves you emptier below;
I am the void that you can't explain,
but which is where you want to go.
Flame sucks between the balls of steel;
nothing moves, the air itself congeals.
Look at the flame if you want to,
hear the sharp crack of the fission,
smell the brief vapour of ozone,
feel static motion.
I am the love you try to hide,
but which all can understand;
I am the hate you still deny,
though the blood is on your hands;
I am the peace you're searching for,
but you know you'll never find;
I am the pain you can't endure,
but which tingles in your mind.
Flame sucks between the balls of steel;
nothing moves, the air itself congeals.
Look at the flame if you want to,
hear the sharp crack of the fission,
smell the brief vapour of ozone,
feel static motion.
I am the joy you really pay for,
but which comes completely free;
I am your god on the final day,
for the truth is you are me... |
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5. Out of my Book
We sat by ourselves, still looking for company;
there could have been peace, but that eluded me -
all I could think of was what was on my mind.
You tried to be kind,
but I blocked your feelings;
now, senses still reeling, you sit in your quiet room and cry.
You tried to make me one,
but I always hide when there's a glimpse of sun.
Running along in sunlight meadows,
your eyes were never more than half-closed:
through fluttering lashes, you watched me watching you.
I tried to be true
to the way that you thought I ought to be
but in spite of all my efforts I failed.
I tried to make you see
but your eyes are blind to all but the bad in me.
What do you think I mean
when I say that I need you?
How am I supposed to seem
when we hit another problem
and the answers are all torn from my book?
Our lives are on paths we just can't control;
we can grow closer as we get old.
Can you imagine us as we adjust?
Can you imagine us
getting near eighty,
we live more sedately, still hoping the dreams will come true?
We'll try to be secure.
But I'm of uncertain mind
and how can I be sure?
How can I be sure? |
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6. After the Flood
Continuing the story, humanity stumbles -
gone is the glory, there's a far distant rumble.
The clouds have gathered and exploded now:
axes shattered, there is no North or South.
Far off, the ice is foundering slowly,
the ice is turning to water,
the ice is turning to water.
The water rushes over all
cities crash in the mighty wave;
the final man is very small,
plunging in for his final bathe.
This is the ending of the beginning,
this is the beginning of the end,
middle of the middle, mid-point, end and start:
the first peak rises, forces the waves apart.
Far off, the ice is now re-forming:
poles are fixed once more,
water's receding, like death-blood.
And when the water falls again,
all is dead and nobody lives.
And then he said:
'Every step appears to be
the unavoidable consequence of the preceding one,
and in the end there beckons more and more clearly
total annihilation'
This is the ending of the beginning,
this is the beginning of the end,
And when the water falls again,
all is dead and nobody lives. |
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