A Book Alone

Every step is a shock like a thought the colour of you
A soldier searching and a fool fighting 'The knowledge is a cultural confusion'
Bah! my grandfather would not have let me fall into this sentence
My gay sensibilities pushing me far beyond him and his peers
I couldn't make out his apology or his echoing face as I shot off into the theatre
Somebody said I should try praying, I have never prayed, unless you include that panic attack
Great shuddering clicks are all I hear banging against my cochlea
While the anvil and hammer storm against my ancestor's blood
"Reminding me it's getting cold"
That quote was possibly taken from one of the very first prayers I ever saw framed
Words lined side by side can be kind to theatre goers
Harsh to farmer's sons and masturbating school boys
What sort of man are you? Tell me if you are the kind that would prefer to be king or prince?
A book alone or a shelf in use?
We found the piano, somebody, probably a balding man with blue eyes had thrown it off the ledge above
So we used it for fire wood and in the morning all that remained
Was a circling gull, 4 wheels and 88 wires
A croaking voice and a lovely little laugh means that Thursday is here
Old friends, new friends and lost friends
Mostly all theatre goers, although some have placed their hands on the old gate
A few more have laid them selves to prayer also
I never found it hard to say what I needed to say, you can work for and believe in a cause
I can believe in what the echo of my grandfather says
All the men leant over and listened as you discussed what you thought was right
I stayed at home and wrote a line for love and a line for the future
One thing I love about silence it that it is so easy to conquer
And little boys who life has never given swords to are lost in their anti-art thievery
Shhh, can you hear the moan throwing itself over from the west?
88 wires still warm tucked in a bag with a picture of St Dwynwen
And the thought of a golden bullet being left at the grave of John the Apostle
Or maybe just a geranium
Shame is hanging her head by the theatre and I am harvesting the grains
Alexandria wonders where her intelligence and learning has gone
Rome is wondering where the young men with newly sprung hair on broad chests are
(They each took turns in a the capital's horse paddocks and have never left!)
London is offering fame and comfort and my grandfather's echo is sparkling like champagne
Young thing you've no need for this prayer nor this panic attack
I will leave you angry, in all that you are, with your smile and your return attack
And I intend to be both the soldier learning and the fool fighting
I can feel those piano strings against my leg
"Reminding me it's getting cold"