See there! A man is born --
and we pronounce him fit for peace.
There's a load lifted from his shoulders
with the discovery of his disease.
We'll take the child from him
put it to the test
teach it to be a wise man
how to fool the rest.
We will be geared to the average rather than the exceptional
God is an overwhelming responsibility
we walked through the maternity ward and saw 218 babies wearing nylons
It says here that cats are on the upgrade
upgrade? Hipgrave. Oh, Mac.
In the clear white circles of morning wonder
I take my place with the lord of the hills.
And the blue-eyed soldiers stand slightly discoloured (in neat little rows)
sporting canvas frills.
With their jock-straps pinching, they slouch to attention
while queueing for sarnies at the office canteen.
Saying -- how's your granny and good old Ernie:
he coughed up a tenner on a premium bond win.
The legends (worded in the ancient tribal hymn) lie cradled in the seagull's call.
And all the promises they made are ground beneath the sadist's fall.
The poet and the wise man stand behind the gun
and signal for the crack of dawn. Light the sun.
Light the sun.
Do you believe in the day?
Do you believe in the day?
The Dawn Creation of the Kings has begun.
Has begun.
Soft Venus (lonely maiden) brings the ageless one.
The ageless one.
Do you believe in the day?
Do you believe in the day?
The fading hero has returned to the night --
To the night.
and fully pregnant with the day, wise men endorse the poet's sight.
Do you believe in the day?
Do you believe in the day?
Let me tell you the tales of your life
of your love and the cut of the knife
the tireless oppression the wisdom instilled
the desire to kill or be killed.
Let me sing of the losers who lie
in the street as the last bus goes by.
The pavements are empty: the gutters run red --
while the fool toasts his god in the sky.
So come all ye young men who are building castles!
Kindly state the time of the year
and join your voices in a hellish .
Mark the precise nature of your fear.
Let me help you pick up your dead
as the sins of the fathers are fed
with the blood of the fools and the thoughts of the wise
and from the pan under your bed.
Let me make you a present of song
As the wise man breaks wind and is gone
While the fool with the hour-glass is cooking his goose and
the nursery rhyme winds along.
So! Come all ye young men who are building castles!
Kindly state the time of the year
and join your voices in a hellish .
Mark the precise nature of your fear.
See! The summer lightning casts its bolts upon you
and the hour of judgement draweth near.
Would you be the fool stood in his suit of armour
or the wiser man who rushes clear.
So! Come on ye childhood heroes!
Won't your rise up from the pages
of your comic-books your super-crooks
and show us all the way.
Well! Make your will and testament.
Won't you? Join your local government.
We'll have Superman for president
let The Robin save the day.
So! Where the hell was Biggles when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen who always pulled you through?
They're all resting down in Cornwall -- writing up their memoirs
for a paper-back edition of the Boy Scout Manual.
So you ride yourselves over the fields
and you make all your animal deals
and your wise men don't know how it feels
to be thick as a brick.

INVIA LE CORREZIONI