I dream, and distant lights I see.
In sleep, I’m snoring.
Well wait a while, it ought to be
clear in the morning.

But morning comes, there’s still
no joy, and willy’nilly,
You find you’d rather smoke than eat,
or drink yourself silly.

 
 
 
 

The bar looks smart, green tablecloths,
white napkins there -
Heaven for beggars and for fools -
for me, a snare.

In church, it’s gloomy,
incense’laden, murky light -
No, there as well, all isn’t right,
all isn’t right.

I climb a mountain, breathing hard,
and cautious - very.
Trees on the mountain, alders on high,
below them, cherry.

If all the slope were draped
in plush, I’d love the sight.
And yet it lacks I know not what -
all isn’t right.

 
 
 
 

I walk in fields along a stream.
Light, darkness - godless.
The fields are bright with cornflower blue -
the road seems endless.

Witches could lurk beside
the road, within the wood.
At road’s end - block and axe,
with headsman wearing hood.

Horses hooves, clip clop,
clip clop, riders unbending.
Along the road, all isn’t right -
worse at its ending.

Not in the church, not in the bar,
there’s no salvation.
All isn’t right, lads, isn’t right -
Hell and damnation!