(i) The Emperor
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Standing in the space that holds the silent lace of night
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away from you
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You think that you can hold the searing, molten gold between
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your fingers ...
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But it slips through, tearing tendons as it goes,
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exposing the white of a knuckle ...
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flesh-and-metal forming letters in the mould.
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Cradling your gun, after choosing the ones you think should die -
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Lying on the hill ... crawling over the windowsill into your
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living-room
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They stare out, glass-eyed aimless heads,
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bodies torn by vultures ..
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you are the man whose hands are rank with the smell of death.
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Saviour of the Fallen, Protector of the Weak,
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Friend of the Tall Ones, Keeper of the Peace ...
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Ah, but it is the only way you know .....
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Looking out to sea, a flattened plane of weeds which bear no living
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You crush life in your fist as your heart is kissed by the lips of death
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Ghosts betray you, ghosts betray you,
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in the night they steal your eye
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from its socket ...
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and the ball hangs fallen on your cheek.
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Complaining tongues are stilled; a thousand mouths are filled
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with rusting metal.
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Your face a shade of green; somehow you try to speak through all the garbage in your mouth
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But it won't come out, and you cannot frame the words
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as your stepson
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throws your fame into the flames and you are burned.
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Saviour of the Fallen, Protector of the Weak,
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Friend of the Tall Ones, Keeper of the Peace.
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Ah, but it is the only way you know ..........
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The Emperor In His War-Room (i) The Emperor
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Van Der Graaf Generator |