To Where You Were Going

What sweet words can you sing to the word tonight?
What hymn to the thieving boys will make them feel?
A matter of ability that you ricocheted off the past
And none of us saw you close your hand in the dark
Will you try to hurt the darkness that closes around the strangeness?
A mutation around the ground that keeps us standing
Although all our names are written on the list that is pinned to the door
And we see someone has drawn the curtains closed
The drums are all beaten hard and the drums are all beaten rough
As the boys all walk down the side with no chance of stopping
The gate swings wide, the gate swings open
And plans go awry, plans all back fire
Dangerous words are spoken, rearranged, buried and put to sea
The wind rips the sails and the destiny has no control, it takes no notice
All the flowers are put in water and colouring
The result of a genius plan owned by the writer and his lover
We listen to the witnesses words, the same words as the poem
In a voice scratchy, not heard by our ears before
I can't place it, but I can place his father's
It seems the police had been watching him for days
They put the tag of the last revolter, the last surviver on his file
He was sensitive to where he was going
He just didn't know that by December the innocents would all be broken
Sleeping in french beds, crawling with lice and dusted with hope
The church was mentioned but it was bought by the saviour
The Police couldn't keep out the saints and the saints couldn't find the angels
A little faith was needed but no one believed in them living in the poor quarter
Reading Balzac and old ballads of`gaols and gravel roads
We never put you on podiums, we never put faith your words
We merely believed in the truth of your existence
In the pain of your triumph
So true, So honest and so famous
If only more people could have been there to embrace your clarity
To be more sensitive to where you were going