The Age of Discord
The refugee’s home is my home
But it only became my home when the refugee thanked me for it
This is the Age of Discord, the Fourth Age
For the refugee in the Migrant Kingdom
The homeless man on the street is a reminder of the fourth age
In a primitive age, on a primitive world
Of the homeless man, who is living in a can
Of the refugee, seen living under a willow tree
It is said that this is the face of the greed of the world
In this primitive age, on this primitive world
And the ingenious man is upheld as a fool
For the fool of the world knows not the strife of the mule
Who carries the world on his back
Yet the fool of the world is the mule of the world
The very same indeed
For the fool of the world
Carries lesser fools on his back
Stress and strife, thievery and vice
These are the virtues the fourth age upholds
With all the world, its wealth untold
United together under one flag
Under a ton, in front of a gun
Those who oppose it live on the run
Don’t submit to the crown? Better get out of town
Speaking your mind? What’s the best hiding place you can find?
I’d like to know it, and hide with you myself
If you don’t mind?
With our freedom and wealth, we wish you good health
And many more years may you live
For the shortest of life in this age of strife know what makes the world spin
The Age of Gever
The sophisticated woman is more of a man than you’ll ever be
Imperious in speech, impervious in debate
This is the ideal for which man strives
It is the fountainhead of his progress
It is the long march which he marches in his dreams
Never quite to come true except for in a primitive age
In this primitive age, on a primitive world, man’s dream can come true
In an Age of Man, dreams are real, and dreams are all he needs
One hundred thousand times though, the Age of Man has come and gone
When will that long march he dreams of quicken in its pace?
When will the dissent in the ranks end? Where will it end?
It ends at the end of the Age of Man, one hundred thousand times and tenfold that, it ends
Picture one hundred thousand men
They are immaculate, in this Age of Peace, at the eye of the storm before the storm ever was
Cuffs of gold, collars of white, this is the dream come true
The architecture of this age is built to match the men who architected it
Facades of white, empty rooms full of gold, this is the dream come true
Standing in a great cobbled square, a boulevard is dedicated to their indelible friendship
Picture the man who is musing on you
Here I am sat in an iron garden chair, my table is grey metal with its white paint cracked
On this cobbled boulevard, I am a beautiful sight
The lounge suit is the uniform of this age, but I wear it so well
This time of day, at this time of year, the sun reflects so well on my complexion
The weather has been kind to me today, this is one day I will remember for ten thousand years
Are we living like in those days?
Are we living in those days?
I am the voice of that man
I could stay here for all those ten thousand years
But this age won’t see one year more
The Age of Despair
At the end of the first age, and the beginning of the second
The nature of the whole world is seen through the art of theatre
As though transitioning from one act to another
The age of two is one where that which comes in pairs is upheld
This is the tragedy of the world that stands only on two legs
When once the world stood upon four
I am an actor, and I know where I play
Long lines, no lines, as long as I’m paid
Playing the fool or playing it cool, I wear whiteface every day
Got to get a word in to Emmeline’s father
‘Oh God, she thinks I’m gay’
In the age of two, an actor and a dancer stand upon the stage
Even though the stage was built with room for only one
The stage is like a watchtower, from which I can see many miles
For the actor and the dancer, the stage is their home
But no other home do they have
It’s raining, raining, raining forever
For the two upon the watchtower
Who never spoke another word to one another
Waiting forever for the voice to wed them together
Waiting forever for the vicar to stop his bothering bicker
And climb the tower a little quicker
Too slow, old vicar, too slow
For the two upon the watchtower
Thunder and lightning, Indra and Vritra
Raining forever on the two in the picture
Silent forever for the needy of lecture
Double-think, double-thought of wearing a tincture
Fragile and silly, lacy and frilly
So is the folly of two into one
The Age of Goloka
Now remove yourself from this risqué scene
I can be so inappropriate when I am watching you in daylight
Now remove me from this this vulgar scene
Of golden boulevards and tarnished silver cobblestones
Picture the man at leisure in the countryside
This is the Age of Goloka
I know where I am, don’t you?
In a brown suit, cream hat, smoking a cigarette
It was offered to me by a homeless refugee
How could I refuse such humble charity?
The third age has passed this place by, we’re safe here for now
The fourth age consumes the world below
The destitution of their wealth is demonstrated so
Thus ended the world you and I know
Picture the man at leisure in the countryside
Here we do not reach for the bottle to solve our problems
We do not reach for the sedative to obscure our despair
The young people of the farm live in a world altogether more enlightened than the old one
The young people on the farm make me more envious than your world ever would
When I am at leisure in the country, I can walk so far from home
Seeing no one, I become conscious of the curvature of the Earth
This is a lesson in the nature of the long march we are on
Don’t hide your daughters from the degradation of the third age
Don’t hide them from disaster and destruction that will be brought upon them in the fourth
The First Age can be found on the farm, in this the age of sacrifice
This is the nature of the long, long march
Every man and woman must understand the dualism of the mountain we climb
Climbing this green mountain, I can see further than ever before
One hundred thousand miles of green overflowing beyond the horizon
One hundred thousand smiling faces thankful, for the long march they are marching together
Comments