Fickle Sun (ii) The Hour Is Thin

The hour is thin trafalgar Square is calm
Birds and cold black dark
The final famine of a wicked sun
And the web that died yesterday

I was a hard-copy version
I turned my eyes directly to hate
Then, the hammer of toil
Tired of what the world has yet brought
Forth, with the women waving at war
And the news that war is faith
Filled with tremendous cheering, leaping, and
Night rings ding, dang, and gongs
Who did not feel any purpose?

The phoenix broods, serene above the moment
You are fighting for, I wonder what, destiny

We waste away our hours and darken
Beneath the velvet of a strong optimism
Britain's most fateful hour is spun

Copy this point on a gong

Choirs, like bells, like a national truce
And the new sun
Where the air is something new
Men dream of a swell so high
Endeavor to get through the lies
And the bees to find
Something that historians can rake
Out of the drums
And all that color and savagery
Boom, the dark
And the web that died yesterday

The phoenix broods serene above
The tower of time, not enough boats
He admitted without shame that he
Had entered into the dreams
Of the named addressee in the velvet of war

Well lad, you've taken my heart away i
Shall miss the heart of the cold, black sea
Before ever there was writing
They were taking
Up stones to hurl at last stroke
But nobody looked back

There were soldiers, there was a cradle

The universe is required please
Notify the sun