Hands
There are many hands in Kingston,
Washing dishes. Sweeping floors,
Their are hands preparing dinners,
Flicking switches, locking doors.
There are hands all holding brushes,
Making works the artists lead,
And some hands are braiding dreadlocks,
On a few a raster's head.
There are many hands in Kingston,
Setting tables, stocking stores,
Little hands that build their castles,
Out of sand, upon the shores,
There are callous hands on fishing nets,
Where the boat men do their chores,
All these hands are ever busy,
As the older hands before.
I tell no lie, my hands are lazy,
Pages blank, they work no more,
For my fingers should be writing,
But my hands are holding yours.
End
End Of Time
If I could turn the hands of time,
I'd hold you while you're young,
Whisper while you're sleeping,
Tell you I'm the one.
If I could travel oceans,
I'd find you when your old,
Spend my days beside youc
And lend a hand to hold-
No sky or sea could part us,
No desert wide and dry,
And any force that roams the earth,
Could take a chance and try.
We'll light the caves of ancient,
Entail the river Nile,
I'll follow you forever,
So long as souls beguile.
End
Angels In The Attic
This house was built of elements,
That settled heavens score,
Now there's angels in the attic,
And there's devils neath the floor.
And with every unseen hour,
Is a tear shed once before,
As of every waking midnight,
Cries the spirits at the door.
Oh What wicked could befall us,
That the board these walls so bore,
Bleeds of sins so ever deadly,
Washing bloodshed ore the shore.
Be there not one soul untouched enough,
Amongst both rich and poor,
To free the angels from the attic,
Now the devils hide no more.
End
Evermore
The tale once told a cold December,
Speaks again upon November,
Whispers, of the Raven, seated-
Still above my chamber door.
And for one, uncertain reason,
At the call of autumn season,
Whilst the trees released their leaves,
And painted palettes ore' the floor,
My soul relieved from Nevermore.
Flew him through the window shutter,
Not a word of sense to utter,
No parting speech toward eachother,
Flew him back toward the shore,
Toward the darkness of the depth,
From which his soul arrived before,
His chains unbound for ever more.
Still this joy, cut short to sorrow,
As one wakes alone tomorrow,
No companion still beside me,
No more beast above my door-
Gone away, where tides have taken,
Beast and bride return to Satan,
Sunken still- to silence, taken,
Both the beast and Elenore,
Alone my soul, for evermore.
Recall her on my red recliner,
Muse or maiden, something finer,
Sweetest thing the saints could sire,
Wish her at my chamber door.
Return the devil from it's gleaning,
Slumbering maiden from her dreaming,
Be them at my side and door,
in my sights, for evermore.
Never was a cry so certain,
Seeping through my crimson curtain,
Never had a heart been hurting,
Quite like this which beat so sore-
Yet sure enough, as moon's arising,
As the night called velvet skies in,
Heard my cries, called out reprising,
footsteps ore' my wooden floor-
calling home the beast that ceased,
It's seating ore' my chamber door-
Calling this and Elenore,
To my side, for evermore.
End