Copyright © 1978, 1998, 2006 Jack Hardy Music (BMI)
load them on board like so many soldiers of fortune with their knapsacks and their sleeping bags singing songs and smoking fags to kill the time complaining how life's so hard wondering how to sneak past the guard with their morphine (and the old men say) paris is the place to go if you have a heart that's broke no woman is worth fighting for you're better off with a whore and i have such a wound wondering if i should run or stay and fight for the one who doesn't care from dover to dunkirk with all these faces i'll never see again from dover to dunkirk the sea is as quiet as a long lost friend load them on board like so many soldiers of freedom carrying their homes on their backs the chaplain busy making cracks to kill the time wondering if they'll return or spend their youth as a candle burns crying for morphine (and the old men say) you're fools to go they proved that at maginot paris ain't worth fighting for she's just a tired old whore and i have such a wound wondering if i should run or stay and fight for the one who doesn't care from dover to dunkirk with all these faces i'll never see again from dover to dunkirk the sea is as quiet as a long lost friend
i used to fancy myself as a sparrow on the wing playing games in the freedom of the wind i used to fancy myself as a minstrel who would sing playing tunes on a gypsy mandolin (chorus:) to live like a sparrow you must fly or face the flame you must know your weakness like you know your name and to live like a poet and roam from town to town you must learn to be lost enough to be found i used to fill up my days with four-leaf clover dreams casting lots on the crossroads of time i used to build my house from fate clothed with words alone not knowing i was naked in my rhyme (repeat chorus) i used to laugh at my loves as they turned from young to old for the weakness in their hearts and in their ways but the dark sky above as it turns from black to gold trades the homing instinct for a lonely grave (repeat chorus)
it's not like pan to play his flute for those who dance for fun the fire flickers through poison roots where chance is on the run it's not elves to hide their gold where fortune seekers dive though pirate lore and island shore yield only ransomed lives (chorus:) there's may day and may wine and may i please come home but the briar grows before the rose and neither grows alone we'll dance tonight 'til we faint in the light of the dawn's sweet song of spring 'round the may pole like a day stole like our feet are borne of wings it's not sirens to sing their songs for sailors with cautious ears they lure no coward right or wrong and trade not death for fear it's not like kings to yield their wines for hundreds of years of war though drop by drop the ancient vine paints blood on every door (repeat chorus) it's not like girls to give consent to men of ragged prose though poets sing of nursery rhymes their cradles are filled with hope it's not like me to give my heart in these drowsy daffodil days though dreams they douse the timid spark where sleep presents its plays (repeat chorus) it's not like saints to tell their tales of nights on windswept moors where death defies the dreams of fate to close the cellar door it's not like shepherds to lay them down when wolves are on the prowl though songs they scare the waking town an ill wind has no howl (repeat chorus)
please don't sing those sad songs of spring sunk deep within the sorrows of sand the cliffs cold color cracks the wind where swallows hide spirits in their wings the cliff holds caves where a boy lies wake soft afternoons and the world that dreams make painting a promise on the frozen sky not old enough yet for works and days though there's no dread in those warm winter eyes somehow his smile betrays his grief caught in brief glimpses as the swallow leaves as lean as the midwinter's bone silently now the boy slowly wakes as the swallow now finds his home far from the rumor's blistering tongue that forces him choose 'tween works and days and 'twixt the prayer that is heaven sent admitting we are nothing ourselves who knows if the swallow returning home has been in the company of elves you are alone with the swallow tonight balancing on that cliff called love at once flying towards the phoenix of youth and towards the delphi of works and days
it was all saints eve though some call it halloween and all the saints were there quite decadent and obscene when i crashed through the door just to make myself heard they said what are you here for and what are these words (chorus:) but all my words are for love all my words are for love all my words are for love for love for love for the love of a woman who's scarred on the soul of her breast with a scar on her breast with a child at her breast so here we are awaiting the judgment of paris as though we had learned the first time as though some phantom dare us i'll have none of your victory i'll have none of your wisdom i'll have none of your most beautiful woman of the world (chorus:) but all my worlds are for love... the three clowns were laughing though their redness was from jealousy and the cymbal was crashing as to punctuate insanity and as they all looked behind them at their pillars of salt dragging everything with them that ain't likely to fall (chorus:) but all my faults are for love... and now the virgin martyr disguised as a boy with her innocence on trial which is what they enjoy as the whiteness shows through in the midst of the flames they start looking elsewhere for someone to blame (chorus:) but all my blame is for love... maintenant la vierge folle avec son histoire d'une ame avec l'epoux infernal son raison d'être notre dame and as the bell slowly tolls gods and mortals they ask which maudlin is gone we can't see through their masks (chorus:) but all my masks are for love... the nightmare was over the innocents have fled tearing bricks from the blockade leaving stains on their bed and the alley cathedrals using bones for their chimes with the windows depicting the most famous of crimes (chorus:) but all my crimes are love...
three soft green mountains of jaded jewels of jasper and quartz that shiver in snow of jasmine and chamomile in the cracks on the road three sisters alone showing spring less cruel long before the coast makes claims with its spray o'er the inland plains of fair favored fields where nature shares secrets in autumn's yield three sisters alone winter's wishes betrayed the oldest looks out o'er the workers who slave the toil of the fields and bread of the oven blessing the blood with a song that is woven three sisters alone sing of grapes and of graves the fair one shows kindness in nature's full force the wrath of the sadness with softness within where treasures of beauty show no guilt of sin three sisters alone as the seasons change course the youngest shines youth as it blossoms with love the pureness of passion for cause and for birth a kinship of sorrow and friend of the earth three sisters alone are memories enough three sisters of mercy who are one yet their own 'cross the desert of madness they beckon you come towards fullness of life as you grow wearisome three sisters alone but love brings you home
thirty days has september thirty days in the sun april june and november all those days on the run but you've got to stop somewhere 'fore you're betrayed by the wheel take my love by the hand for a walk down to potter's field thirty pieces of silver from a long-ago scheme that's the price that you kill for fulfilling jeremy's dream but it's all blood money familiar friend at your meal but the flowers still bloom every spring down in potter's field thirty years in youth's doorway for philosopher kings thirty more that you work for tombs retirement brings but you can't take it with you every day that life steals time in the end puts us all down to potter's field
when the leanhaun shee* draws blood for freedom only the nameless one cries when she dances her victory on through the ages under the blistering lights the streetwalkers set the stage the characters scream from the page the girl who won't tell her age offers opiate to ease the pain but no monument cries in the bride street cellar gloom only the nameless one lies in the tomb as the dark lady madness plays with the truth of discipline and she whistled him down with the wind when the leanhaun shee* writes plays of passion only the nameless one sighs intimidating witnesses who vie for visions twisting and injuring his words well there are those who suffer and learn and there are those who suffer and turn and there are those who just long to burn in the fire of her opiate words but as she fades from the stage we hear her call because i take things lightly i am master of all as the laughter mocks the call of the plaintive violin and she whistled him down with the wind when the dark faery queen claws on the season south where the nameless one flies venting her victory on the red ribbon genius on the trampled wings of rhyme but the flight has become most absurd for the four winds of desire are hers and she is tending them all like a shepherd with her opiate cure and the gull that flies from fishamble street in the cholera cold he dies of the heat not far enough from the seed of his origin and she whistled him down with the wind when the leanhaun shee* lays down her teasing after the nameless one dies when she calls for her pay and is sold as a slave only the nameless one cries we have come to the end of our play realizing they all have our names as the houselights melt all the stains that carved all the blame and the poet of freedom screams in the night as the nameless one lies awaiting the light the two-penny opera making heads of heroes and tales of heroin and she whistled him down with the wind*"The Leanhaun Shee (fairy mistress) seeks the love of men. If they refuse, she is their slave; if they consent, they are hers, and can only escape by finding one to take their place. Her lovers waste away, for she lives on their life. Most of the Gaelic poets, down to quite recent times, have had a Leanhaun Shee, for she gives inspiration to her slaves. She is the Gaelic muse."—W. B. Yeats
i stopped all day to pick wildflowers down by the banks where the blackberry grows all in the shadows of the late autumn hours all in the brambles and the late blooming rose i picked all of the white ones and picked all the blues for those are the ones that would go with her dress and i'll dance tonight, wear holes in my shoes 'til i am the one that she loves the best (chorus:) so dally down where the river runs where the forest bathes the senses clean dally down where the fiery sun and the rhythm moon makes a faery dream and you might think that my heart would lie that many a girl had caught my eye but my heart all along belongs to the girl who baked me a blackberry pie though i've stayed single all of these years 'tween the twisting rope and the wounding wind never staying long enough to see the spring where i had seen the harvest in and i don't give a tinker's damn for the road though many they say i'm bound to roam and i just might be the last one in though i will be coming home (repeat chorus) and many a glass i'll drink tonight where the wine-red hand is from work or fight there is no judge more fair than time for there is no one to change his mind each time i look in the parting glass those years that look both ways to know i'll sing the last song of my youth but i'll sing it again tomorrow (repeat chorus)
out plowing his fields alone
a man with his harvest unsown
his circles getting wider and wider
dragging stones to build his home
seal the tomb of his unknown
his loneliness a gnawing spinning gyre
though the roots of corn lay trampled and torn
as the damp wind proclaimed the winter's end
when a friend made haste to bid him good day
and that has made all the difference
(chorus:)
do you exist at the moment in the solitude of noise
do you exist at any moment at all
are you truly a friend to those you call friend
is your work worth the worry of it all
i am alone i am alone i am alone
how long can this cycle go on
i am reaching out a hand to you reaching out to you
please do not refuse do not refuse
in a far-away city room
a girl pants her poems to the moon
her walls eclipse all of her pagan dreams
when reason wed with chaos
cries deliver a saint
her patron ghost caught in the candle screams
my garden is placed on my shelf with my pen
where it is safe from all that scraping pain
shall i chance myself my reflection again
and go back naked to the rain
(chorus:)
do you exist at the moment that your kiss turns cold...
around a nearby corner
in the hour of the stumble-home drunks
when the beggars all line up at the bakery
though they call for the loaves
the man knows all of their names
and he smiles as he bids them all good day
no smoke-filled rooms eating crow with a silver spoon
pouring salt into the wounds of friends
this shall be our rite of spring to simply say we exist
and then go back naked to the rain
(chorus:)
do you exist at the moment that your bottle's full of empty...