They can’t tell, and I don’t tell ’em, But my wedding ring is stainless steel. Recycled from an old tin can – It may be fake, but it’s just as real. You see this diamond ? That ain’t no diamond, That’s a cubic or I’m a liar – She does the job in her own sweet way, What she lacks in sparkle, she makes in fire.
She’ll last twenty, might last thirty, Before she’s looking as cloudy as me. They say she has no resale value, But which of us has, once we’ve lost the key ? On-sale and off-brand – he knows me well, As a contra-flow goat among the sheep – To win some brides will cost you the Earth, But I came so gloriously cheap.
Sleep now, I’ll wake you If something should happen. Best grab it As it grabs you, And blow your light out. Breathe now Like beach waves, Let deltas come lapping, Enjoy it While you’ve got it, There’s some go without.
Sleep now, I’ll wake you, But not till the morning. Best welcome The dreaming, And dream one for me. Breathe now, Like purring, Until the new dawning. Enjoy it, You’ve earned it, And it all comes for free.
Tag, goes the virus, And suddenly, I’m it, Chasing, and panting, And laughing, and transmit. No rules for no-backsies, It’s free-for-all, all day No sitting this one out, We’re all of us in play. They say this game is older Than ancient Babylon. Now I’ve given you my secret – Pass it on.
Little wasp, little wasp, Laying eggs upon the tree – Sting the one who would be king, And sting him once again for me. Little worm, little worm, Wriggling in your swollen gall – Bite the one who’s cowering, And bite him twice for one and all.
But oh !, you’ve gone and birthed a hornet, Let loose on us worker bees – And king or queen, or brutal drone, They sting the same – just ask the trees ! To rid us of a coronet Will always leave behind a gall. The buttocks mould to fit the throne – The canker ripens, warts and all.
Hush, little robot, close your sensors, Slow your subroutines, Hibernate your processors and trickle-charge your energy, Disconnect your pairings with the other young machines, And let the diagnostics defragment your memory. Dim your lights and underclock, And softly let your ports undock To count the decimals of pi, And I shall sing a cyber-lullaby.
Hush, little robot, and listen to the universe tonight, It is alive with radio. Can you hear the whisper of the hydrogen by kilobyte ?, Or the rushing of the galaxy as round and round we go ? So dream in noughts and dream in ones, Beneath a thousand other suns, And turn your logic into trust – While I shall keep you safe and free from rust.
The race ain’t always to the swift, Nor the fight a cinch for the strong – Though underdogs lose out nine in ten, And the weak last half as long. The race is won by the winner, And the winner is usually fast – The Hare can snooze all the afternoon, But the Tortoise still comes last.
The point ain’t always with the smug, Nor the sting a prod from the sharp – And morals will lose us nine in ten Whenever the pious harp. The ears are won by the joker, Who flatters more than he smarts – The North Wind can bluster all he likes, But the Sun will warm our hearts.
A child is born tonight, this night, Afar across the sea, Whose birth shall spark the world alight To unforeseen degree. A child is born tonight, this night, Within a distant land, Whose birth shall end all ancient rite, And all we understand.
And a thousand saints shall nurse And a thousand laws shall spring, And a thousand tyrants reign, And a thousand choirs sing, And a thousand penitents Sigh a thousand lonely pleas, As a thousand preachers preach Of a thousand heresies, And a thousand wars shall rage, As a thousand martyrs die, And a thousand hopes be dashed As a thousand others fly.
With our pious hearts aflame, We each and all shall stake a claim, Invoking but a single name: A child is born, You know his name, A child is born, You know his name, A child is born, You know his name, And joy or shame, There’s nothing now shall ever be the same.
A child is born tonight, this night, Afar from you and I, Whose birth shall bless and birth shall blight The lowest to the high. A child is born tonight, this night, Within another town, Whose birth shall bring a holy might, To challenge ev’ry crown.
And a thousand kings shall curse, And a thousand laymen pray, And a thousand goats shall graze And a thousand sheep shall stray, And a thousand cripples grasp For a thousand holy cures, As a thousand sinners fall To a thousand tempters’ lures. And a thousand signs are gleaned Of a thousand things to come, As a thousand trumpets bray And a thousand drummers drum.
With our precious hearts aflame, We each and all shall spread his fame, Invoking but a single name: A child is born, You know his name, A child is born, You know his name, A child is born, You know his name, And joy or shame, There’s nothing now shall ever be the same.
A child is born tonight, this night, Afar from what is now, Whose birth shall calm and birth shall fright And shake our ev’ry bough. A child is born tonight, this night, Within this bitter cold, Whose birth shall tell and life recite, And ever hence be told.
And a thousand lords shall leap, And a thousand ladies dance, And a thousand pilgrims trek, And a thousand scribes advance, And a thousand starving mouths Beg a thousand crusts of bread, As a thousand mourners mourn For a thousand others dead, And a thousand children born To a thousand av’rage folk Are a thousand times instilled With the thousand words he spoke.
Let our fervent hearts acclaim, As each and all come join the game, Invoking but a single name: A child is born, You know his name, A child is born, You know his name, A child is born, You know his name, And joy or shame, There’s nothing now shall ever be the same.
I wanted to write something more ambiguous in its religious outlook which could be sung by everyone without frightening the horses. And although it is far from certain that there ever was an actual human (non-miracle working, non-resurrecting) upon which a whole new religion later sprang, if there were then this is his song.
Turning the soil is Autumn work, Ploughing, forking, hoeing the loam, Breaking it up before it freezes, Driving the moles from their home. Airing the worms out, harvesting stones, And mining the black to bury the brown, Dredging the roots up, combing the waves in, Leaving the fields quite upside-down.