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Pyramid - a trilogy words by Bob MacKenzie music by Poem de Terre I (Generation) We are all building pyramids of sticks: Pyramids we live in, Pyramids we worship, Pyramids we cook on, Pyramids we die for; Pyramids of sticks aiming to the sky. Our commerce now turns a spinning wheel pace Like a world of its own Ever rolling, rolling With bigger sticks to pile: Temple, home, and fortress Buttress pointing, ever pointing skyward. The farms have grown now and the towns have too As we draw our lines on this drifting ball - And build an atlas all our own, with fence, Demarcating wood showing who lives where, Each man planting, weeding, harvesting crops Without ever fouling another's way. Church becomes ritual, unfeeling play - Man is creator creating dragons; Dragons to build cities - a work free world. Farmers will farm or they'll move to the towns And the town people look to the cities. How the cities grow. Oh, how they do grow! Machines eat man as men ate rabbits once; A bit at a time, slowly consuming First the mind then all his body slowly Until machine man man machine are one: Automatons building automatons Destroying men endlessly; endlessly! The Nation is all and second is Church And nothing matters more Until we win this war; Our god will defend us And our weapons will too - Triumph to Church and glory to Nation! War seems to grow on men like parasites Single, double, triple Eroding human rights Hardly with a ripple In collective conscience 'Til, war past, we become subservients. II (Degeneration) We fight - wars come, wars go - growing, growing Until two wars world wide have come and gone. We join the church in crying peace on Earth And our young men defend their land of birth. Youngsters rotting rotting baring dried bone Fought and died for lack of understanding. A voice in howl cries out for all beatitude: Tiger lily growing skyward paints a red gash Like sunset red and fluffy white clouds overhead Mushroom sporing white on blue skies, a fearful badge; A cry; a sign to all that all may soon be dead; Warning skull and crossbones that turns the Earth to ash; The wasteland comes to prove our most rash aptitude. We have fought the war to end all war, twice Skybirds through blue, childlike hands reach outward, Hands across a world of many secrets. What fool is this who calls this child coward Who, eternity lost, has no regrets. Groping, searching we are lurching forward Eden's children lost, ourselves we ask, "Thrice?" We play with deadly aim a game; revolution: Our board - blocks of anarchy and oldness, Godless pawns are people bent by winds prevailing Strange new battle lines in evolution. All around as people leave each church is falling And we spawn a cloud of dark and coldness; Even sages have no time to find solution. Under mushroom skies, field and street, masses meet, butt Bent on proving points to turn opinion. Comes a cry from out the mass, "Your god is dead - dead." Crossing minds with potions masses bleat, but Comes a cry to all who hear, "What god then is there?" Lost indeed to most seems God's dominion, "He must be dead." - drugged, they slam his door with feet, shut. War and revolution now are rampant life styles: See, the desolation and ruins for miles and miles - Misty miles of smoke, what better battle grounds, eh? Out there somewhere grows a tree that few men seek now. In the minds of men a lily grows, a red gash Haling all to sinister thought like a dread lash, Each to think a thought that each knows not how to say. Who is friend each cries yet each will find no answer; Black clouds grow where grew the tree; man's born to battle Birdwing gone and blue too; who can name this dancer, Only he can tell in truth the dancing's ending. Dance on how long dance on, each display your mettle, Somewhere still in wind the tree is bending. III (Regeneration) Silence - Earth, the Earth, stands still waiting While light climbs the horizon, A steeplejack of the sky Above the trace of pyramids; Stick piles aiming to the sky. Birds sing, A few at first but singing And growing to a concert; Plants sing in bright counterpoint Their melody of colour - Steeplejack has topped his pole. Lovely now the day, the sun, The creatures gathering 'round; Here a deer, a grouse, a dog; There a hare, a porcupine, All enjoying spring at last In the greening summer sun. Here and there the pyramids Break and fall in piles from age - Stick piles pointing to the sun; Higher, ever higher piles Points to the sun in glory Crumbling. Animals and plants alike Feel spring, feel life, feel all's right: A unity fills the wind In this abundant garden Where all enjoy their springtime Commune. Abundance is life for all, And all enjoy abundance. Sol climbs up and down his pole As green, brown, and white rotate Soft streams of sand and sifting time - piling life-grain pyramids. In the clearing a shadow; He in the shadow gazes Downward to a pile of sticks: Pyramiding in his mind, Pyramiding fallen sticks, Pyramiding... | ||
all songs are copyright © R. D. MacKenzie and his co-writers (SOCAN)
Designed by The Communication Centre, Kingston, Ontario K7K 6T9 | ||||||||||||
