1970

(released first on the B side of "Refugees" single)

Horus, the son of Isis, lay in the marshes of Buto,
poisoned by Set.
She called out to the High God Ra
to kill this evil, that her child may live yet.
Casting aside her present fears
she called out on the Boat of Millions of Years...
Ra came and saw
and stopped the sun until he had cured
the life of the innocent.

Horus the Good lived in the North,
in lands of fertility and beauty
but Set stayed in the hard desert,
to him belonged all drought and perversity.
While he sheds his tears

North was somewhere years ago and cold:
Ice locked the people's hearts and made them old.
South was birth to pleasant lands, but dry...
I walked the waters' depths and played my mind.

East was dawn, coming alive in the golden sun:
the winds came gently, several heads became one
in the summertime, though august people sneered;
we were at peace, and we cheered.

We walked along, sometimes hand in hand,
between the thin lines marking sea and sand;
smiling very peacefully,
we began to notice that we could be free,
and we moved together to the West.

(The Dance in Sand and Sea)

So here we are, or rather, here am I, quite alone;
I'm seeing things that were shared before, long ago;
my memory stretches and I am dazed.
You know I know
how good the time was and how I laughed.
Times have changed, now you're far away, I can't complain -
I had all my chances but they slipped right through my hands
like so much sand;
I know I'll never dance like I used to.

I'll just wait till day breaks upon the land and the sea,
hoping that I can catch all of the memories;
then I must crawl off upon my way,

(The Emperor)

Standing in the space that holds the silent lace of night
away from you
You think that you can hold the searing, molten gold between
your fingers
but it slips through, tearing tendons as it goes,
exposing the white of a knuckle:
flesh-and-metal forming letters in the mould.

Cradling your gun, after choosing the ones you think should die;
lying on the hill, crawling over the windowsill into your
living-room
They stare out, glass-eyed aimless heads, bodies torn by vultures.
You are the man whose hands are rank with the smell of death.

In the year 1486 the Malleus first appeared,
designed to kill all witchcraft and end the papal fears:
prescribing tortures to kill the Black Arts;
and the Hammer struck hard.

Malleus Maleficarum slaughtered and tortured
all those under suspicion, as the Inquisition ordered -
burning black hearts and innocents alike, killing the mad;
such was the power the Hammer had.

Though Hexenhammer was intended to slay only evil,
fear and anger against magic overspilled:
they also killed those of the White.

So for two centuries and more they tried to slay

I am the suck of air you take
that you've had many times before;
I am the blow you try to fake,
but which still throws you out the door;
I am the air that fills your lungs,
but leaves you emptier below;
I am the void that you can't explain,
but which is where you want to go.

Flame sucks between the balls of steel;
nothing moves, the air itself congeals.

Look at the flame if you want to,
hear the sharp crack of the fission,
smell the brief vapour of ozone,
feel static motion.

I am the love you try to hide,
but which all can understand;

We sat by ourselves, still looking for company;
there could have been peace, but that eluded me -
all I could think of was what was on my mind.
You tried to be kind,
but I blocked your feelings;
now, senses still reeling, you sit in your quiet room and cry.
You tried to make me one,
but I always hide when there's a glimpse of sun.

Running along in sunlight meadows,
your eyes were never more than half-closed:
through fluttering lashes, you watched me watching you.
I tried to be true
to the way that you thought I ought to be
but in spite of all my efforts I failed.

Continuing the story, humanity stumbles -
gone is the glory, there's a far distant rumble.
The clouds have gathered and exploded now:
axes shattered, there is no North or South.
Far off, the ice is foundering slowly,
the ice is turning to water,
the ice is turning to water.

The water rushes over all
cities crash in the mighty wave;
the final man is very small,
plunging in for his final bathe.

This is the ending of the beginning,
this is the beginning of the end,
middle of the middle, mid-point, end and start:
the first peak rises, forces the waves apart.