The Blood of Poets

Philip Jeays
Lingua: Inglese

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Album “London”‎

You won’t conquer a man
With a gun in your hand
In his heart you’ll change nothing at all
Let the great and the good
Say they did what they could
When they’ve made no difference at all
When the leaders who cause
All the fighting and wars
Walk away at the end of it all
They leave behind them the graves
Of soldiers and slaves
And the blood of poets on the wall

When the angel that turned
Was cast out and burned
And left from heaven to fall
There he founded a land
For the unholy and damned
Where the tortured souls of men crawl
Let those warm in God’s love
Take their place up above
With the pious and righteous and all
Oh me I’d rather go
To that place down below
With the blood of poets on the wall

In the clear light of day
What more can love say
That’s not better said over all
By a man with a heart
That’s been ripped apart
Who’s seen his world crumble and fall
In love’s bitter quest
It’s the wounded serve best
It’s the wounded who answer the call
So with ink from my vein
I’ll write out your name
In the blood of poets on the wall

Through fire or flood
Words written in blood
From the heart are the strongest of all
It’s not money that counts
In ever larger amounts
Nor to fame nor to power be in thrall
Show your children the way
Teach them all everyday
Without art we are nothing at all
For the poor and the weak
Can find voices to speak
In the blood of poets on the wall

So all you liars beware
Every Bush every Blair
You government pawns one and all
When you are mere dust
The words of the just
Will rise up and sentence you all
When your bodies all rot
With your faces forgot
Much louder than the clarion’s call
Our words will live on
Long after we’re gone
In the blood of poets on the wall

inviata da Dead End - 20/12/2012 - 09:41

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