Hymnal: The war for paradise

The war for paradise begins
When men will cry and rats will sing
When ships will sink and fish will fly
When guns will rattle and bells will sing

And as you approach that sandy beach
The mist must lift, the light will reach
There the garden will beseech
Put down hate and reach and reach

The war for paradise begins
The old will die, the new will ring
You’ll answer as if in a dream
All doors will open to the King

You place your feet upon the sand
You wonder what is this new land
The mountains tall and topped with gold
And nowhere is man getting old

This is a Sibelius MP3 of song

This is a Sibelius PDF of song


This song developed very quickly out of a poem that ended with a line that i liked. So i used the last line to write another poem that became this song. Then thinking i would try it in key of G I discovered it also seemed to resolve to a C. Hence the two keys in the song. I just removed the key signature of G and put in C and it worked well enough.

I wondered what kind of a song it could be and it occurred to me it sounded like an old church hymn.

It’s about the conflict in people’s minds about the biblical last days and the biblical paradise on earth.

I’m afraid I forgot to put in the guitar chords.

Hey, Mr paper bag

Hey, Mr paper bag
How are you?
Not too good
I was empty
And I got thrown away
Yea, I know how you feel
I’m not empty
But I still got thrown away

Hey Mr paper bag
How long you got left?
Only a short while
The wind blows me along
The rain keep me moist
The sun letssss me sleep
In a quiet shadow

Hey Mr paper bag
Weren’t you useful once
All those years ago
When the grocer
Tore you from a hook
And filled you with stuff

Yea, but once used
I was thrown away
A non-entity
With a short work life
All used up

Well I was looking at you
There on the ground
And I wondered
Why am I looking at you?
Then I knew
I’m just like you
I’m just the same as you

The world is a street
That the wind blows down
It’s beginning is buried
It’s ending is foreseeable
It’s walked over, driven over
Bombed and pot holed
It gave birth to villages and gardens
But wherever it went
It left bodies and graves and mysteries
And it spread out
Into mazes and tunnels and labyrinths
And it ends
Where does it end?
It ends at the runway
The runway that ends
Where something takes off
Into the sky
And it never comes back
And where the street ends
Heaven begins
How do you feel about that?
How do I feel?
I’m scared
I’m scared of heaven
I find it hard to talk about
I try not to talk about it
But I think about it a lot
And where is heaven?
Heaven is wherever there is love
So the street that the world has made
And heaven begins
But who made heaven?
Oh, God made heaven
So maybe there is a God

It’s good to feel for life

It’s good to feel for life
Knowing that you die

To ask that life carry on
Without you

To have companions
Who believe in life

Who do not eat
The shadows

In life’s rear-view mirror
You can easily
Wipe away the mud

Life is like endless copies of birds
Trying to fill the sky

And you are one with them
Open or closed you live alongside

The voice is laid bare

Words shake off
The human needs
And the voice
Is laid bare

You will not see the man
Sitting on the grass
As he writes
Or the barren field

The words alone
Are left
And the voice is laid bare

The words are paper flames
The blood is ink

There is enough technology
To make his paper
But not enough
To help feed a hungry man

And another mind
Gives life to print
And the voice is laid bare

The writer has died
His words are kept alive
Perhaps by memory
Or by an archive

For the voice laid bare
Physical considerations
Are none
For voice laid bare

Cut out of mind
Cut out of the feeling heart

God’s words
Have god’s spirit
To put life there

A man’s words
Must be passed on
Like movements at the fair

And spread out
On its cover
And opened
To the bare voice
And assembled
As if fresh
And with the illusion
Of yesterday

The absent witnesses

Their updates
Destroy me
They fill
The studio
With useless paper

My studio
Is my heart

Their updates
Were useless
Like too much weight
For a balloon

Or running thru
A maze of joy
You find
A blockage
Of new instructions

Or like a river
Fills a house
Up to the ceiling

Their updates
Are the threat
Of scarecrows
At a crossroads

I have
What I have
I am
What I am

And anti-laws
Rules and anti-rules

Either – can put a rope
Around my throat

I am like
Any star-headed bird
Expecting life
But finding
Crashing cars

The lasso
Had words
Along its length

In anti-dreamland”

Man’s law
Is stamped in jelly
A table of judges
Pick up their spoons

The law
Came to my home
They were
Nine parts braun
One part crime

Where does it come from?

Every time
They leave the green mould
On your skin
You get the crime
Of not-again

The sky
Was not made
For our rules

It does what it does

The moon
Was not made
For our rules

It is what it is

The sea
Was alive
Without our rules

It is dying

As a copy of their rule book
Is exchanged
For iron
And put around your neck

Yet you would
Burn your head of
To get rid of it

The hated law
The hated court

Its hated

Are murmuring

The crucifix
Was broken off
And its base
Was left
In my heart
Like a splinter

They know
They know
Their platform
Is cranked up
Into the false sky

And down below
The little people
Must dodge
The fiery missiles

You go
Though the legal system
Like a man
Dragged by a horse

They prop up
Your battered body
In front of a judge

The absent witnesses
Are your executioners

A guilty man
Will run from the fire
An innocent man
Will run into it

Like the blackened stones

Like the blackened stones
Of a camp fire
Are the days of my life

There will be more flames
More smoke
More charcoal

As the flames rise high
Into the night
I look at all the faces
I look at the night sky

Then I am alone
Where no one can find me

A star dies
It’s light escapes
It drifts through space
And falls on your face

How hard the little people think

How hard the little people think
Not based on any fed lies
But on sweet wrappings out in time
Like how the spoon
Mixes the mixture in a bowl
Their thoughts fold and unfold
Somewhere in the years of work
They hope for a seed of truth
But there is only magic
There is only disappointment

How hard the little people think
In their heads of stone
And with their hearts like broken eggs
Believing that the heat of death causes changes
They approach eternity like fossils
How easily they crack under the hammer
How easily their lives become rubble

How hard the little people think
With nowhere to go
Without the air to breath
They consume the poison
In the sweat of the faces
Of the men of the carnival
Carrying Baal to the furnace

What must it be like to think
Over and over again
The same broken thoughts
In the same embryonic cave
Cut off from the river
That stays in the mountains
Circling in the valleys
In a belief of freedom

Those you tortured

Those you tortured
Sleep in the sun
Like bundles of pure fire
Like metallic stars
That move about
In the convection of heat

You are a dark overlord
Rolled up in white ice
With the impossible cold fires
Of the present reaction

Those who bow down before you
Are pierced by sharp stones
And from their wounds
Bubbles leave into suspension
Each captive body is a slave’s disbelief
In the aura of control

A million bright mice
Glowing with crystal light
Fill the loyal prison
Of you sweaty apparition
As you cry out
To the hollow of the night

You enter time

You enter time
As a land in space, bordered by fire
Little clumps of flames
Scatter the black land, without sun

The sky is a digital wedge
Glowing green in space
As you approach – it drifts away

Time is a newly opened darkness
That you fear to cross
That ends nowhere and begins again

As you approach the garden wall
You notice a doorway filled by shadows
Time lies just beyond, waiting

%d bloggers like this: