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Beau
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Tree of Life
Far beyond the field of memory, far beyond the questing mind,
Hiding in the tree of life and rising through the roots of time,
Here is history's anger dying; here the great utopian dreams
Cry for their abandoned homeland tears for loveless, lost regimes…
Tears for loveless, lost regimes.
Here an ancient Chinese writer scribbles on his coloured slate,
Charting every misdemeanour carefully by time and date;
Here each child is playing with nothing more than sunlight from the sun,
Cradling his Kalashnikov and polishing his Gatling gun…
Polishing his Gatling gun.
Far beyond the worthless counting, far beyond those coloured beads,
All across a poisoned land of consequences and misdeeds,
Friends will sit and tell their tales to anyone who wants to hear
Of puppetry and power and the rattle of the musketeer…
The rattle of the musketeer.
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So here's where I'll find my galaxy of bright and shining stars,
Flashing to celestial trumpets backed by a thousand steel guitars.
Here's where the ghostly angels play their games of solitaire
At ten below, and now you know you really are too cold to care…
You really are too cold to care.
This icy wind from way up North will petrify whatever breathes.
A blast that howls through every pore is stripping bare the summer leaves.
The crippled branches crack and fall but finally, against the grain,
Relentlessly the tree of life is rising through the acid rain.
The crippled branches crack and fall but finally, against the grain,
Relentlessly this tree of life is rising through the acid rain.
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