Morning bright, rise.
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Go over your lines.
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Iron your carefully crafted disguise.
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We'd all like to sing.
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It's easy to sigh; to sprinkle a handful of plausible lies.
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Our buildings will rise,
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poke out our own eyes.
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Publicly smile and privately frown.
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A weeping reprise.
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Please hear my cries;
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I'd like to pull just this one building down.
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So turn off the sky.
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Head in my hands.
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Night keep me warm.
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White window-sill.
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Blinded by heart.
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Cut my hair short.
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"Eyeless in Gaza with the slaves at the mill."
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Illustrated Bible Stories for Children
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| The Weakerthans |
