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Owen Tromans
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Some Black Plan
It lives in the dirt, it lives in the earth
In this ancient land an unfolding plan
Beneath the boughs of a mighty oak
In the charcoal burner's hollow smoke
In the robin's song, in the fallow field
The future is revealed
All these dice loaded, all these men condemned
All this freedom eroded, like the muddy river's bend
And I hear the hammer fall to the floor
I hear your breath pound on these walls like war
And the wind tells me what is in store
And the ground tells me what is in store
And when I held your head in my hands
I knew this was not a good plan
That which I cannot see, and I cannot feel
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But a plan it is and so real
The sweet sorrow of knowing, impossible to describe
I witness the darkness that moulds and breaks our lives
That settles over you my love in your dying room
For there is no other reason you could be taken so soon
And I must ask; whose are these hands?
But know that my asking is in the plan
And when I held your head in my hands
I knew this was not a good plan
That which I cannot see, and I cannot feel
But a plan it is and so real
Some black plan, drowning this world
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