Forward, watchman, ever forward, never look back,
Timeworn contours contend from grey to black.
Fortunes foretold, remnants, old romantic clichés,
Night’s cold threshold….
Remember for a minute more (give or take),
New yesterdays lost in its wake.
Gaslight (sleep tight!) … and harpsichord,
Broadwood upright (just recently restored),
Authors, classics, rare and hard to find,
Portraits, heirlooms, and curiosities one of a kind.
And at twelve bells of the hour
As one ponders the things that are passing,
Autumn winds swirling ’round the clock tower
Find their mark as the leaves
Heed the tempter’s voice
As it cuts through the trees.
The night’s slumbers may bring
A reminder of four final things.
So, how’s the tale proceeding?
Will it sell? Have you thought of an end?
Make resolve, break resolve,
Foiled again. (My own internal Fred Astaire!)
One weighs the answer
Who knows the dancer.
Shorn of all self-exemption,
Broken, silenced, reduced to a cower,
Weighed and known, in that awful hour,
One can’t deceive, nor self-deceive.
Hear in mute prostration
Of the final station.
Child of Circe
(Lord, have mercy?),
Oh, no, no … no one says that here,
(Except … maybe as a curse!)
Bought the plan
(But then it) Hit the fan….
(But at least) I know things can’t get worse.
Extra, my way,
Why remorse? Why so haunted?
This is what you wanted.
“Think, remember when you had the help?”
But now I’ve got myself all to myself.
Bright beyond expectation,
Through a glass once but darkly beheld,
Rest assured the Director’s cut
Only features all that’s fit to tell
Of a role refashioned
Through a season’s passion.
Perhaps a modern equivalent to the symphonic side of classic English progressive-rock groups like Gentle Giant, (early)
Genesis, and Procol Harum, but with a little Tubes-style funk and the occasional jazz-rock flourish as well, Advent seeks to blend true classical-quality composition with the excitement and dynamics of rock music....more