Propose The Impossible
Jemima: take this catapult
And pray for healing snow
Your father says he's feeling queer
About the missing Musketeer
And though I know it's not your fault
I share his grievous woe.
Jemima: feed the ducks again
And liberate the sheep
That, tied behind your Chevrolet
Have striven daily, come what may,
To wipe away th'unsightly stain
Of those whose lives were cheap
D'you mind my asking, by the way
And, if you do, please shout,
Why your smile is made of sand
And why, like an elastic band
You stretch the sense of Saturday
Till Sunday's half shoved out?
Your mind is what the world would see
If half the world were gone
And in that subterranean grot
Beneath the land that slime forgot
There lies a sheltered glade, where we
Drone on and on and on
You've mined the sea for precious gold
The stratosphere for salt
Yet when you cast a downward gaze
At those who shimmer through the haze
You'll know the truths that you were told
Are riddled through with fault.
|Roland, P, TG.
|22nd October 1998.