Do you feel them: the Angels of the future, poised for war? Hanging over the paralysed present. And everyone is Stood on their toes, and setting their anxious jaws, straining to see beyond the moving wall of time, the horizon And the axis of our troubles are too many, intersecting And the tribes are all alive, like rushing rivers, and they’re dancing To the beating of the drums, around the fires and the wells And the millions of liturgies retelling the world its story once again And all the earth was silent and still for half an hour And all the earth was clamouring like never it did before And there were cracks down the sides of the towers, hear them creaking And we carried on in doubtful living, staring through our secrets, unspeaking And yes you will try crying and then laughing into space To exorcise the unflexed shudder in your bodies, staring at the Arc of the horizon to rest your tired eyes As your ears come alive to the song of: “O dear goodness! God of Jesus Christ!” And the world was asleep, and the world was alive And the world was all still and it was dancing like mad fireflies And the world did walk itself to the lapping threshold of the waves And told her many her secrets, and breathed deep in quiet labour pains Towers and walls Trees and wolves And home, o’er horizons many Powers and laws Beasts and soil And home, in our bones, there buried And kings gave solemn words from their thrones for the fires to be bellowed into furnaces roaring brighter, seven times, till the ropes binding Zoe shall burned from her two wrists And all the kings will shake before her unrelenting fierceness And kings gave solemn words from their thrones for the bricks to be baked in raging ovens by the labour of those who would never Climb the mighty towers that they built, but they would walk on stilts, toward the promises of imported oils and oranges. Hallelujah. And kings gave solemn words from their thrones for many bricks to build a Wall to encircle the faithful as a refuge from the fall. Though ever outside the towers, neither would they wander in the wastes outside the walls. And they praised Jesus for their managed lives And the names of the kings were the only that were spoken Their names were the names above all names in the mouths of their servants and their opponents, and impartial commentators For there was no world besides the towers, walls and raging furnaces. No. And the world was asleep, and the world was alive And the world was all still and it was dancing like mad fireflies And the world did walk itself to the lapping threshold of the waves And told her many her secrets, and breathed deep in quiet labour pains Towers and walls Trees and wolves And home, o’er horizons many Powers and laws Beasts and soil And home, in our bones, there buried Go wander, Dear Ones. Scatter thyselves like stones These towers and these walls shall no longer be your homes, which your ancestors build by the forced hands of those they colonised A machine flexing rubber bands beheld with always flinching eyes Go wander, Dear Ones. May dialects diverge Go and find a margin in the forgotten places of the earth And listen to her poetry - her unmanaged words And pray deep in rivers of finitude and circles of rebirth Go wander, Dear Ones. And this shall not be thy home Obliged to live out futures of a past that’s not your own Ever baking bricks for the coloniser’s towers Ever within walls of the coloniser’s powers Go wander, Dear Ones. Take off your dirty boots Abandon now the building of their towers and grow roots Find a little space, stay a while and trust this scene Let your roots grow slow together, and re-imagine And the world was asleep, and the world was alive And the world was all still and it was dancing like mad fireflies And the world did walk itself to the lapping threshold of the waves And told her many her secrets, and breathed deep in quiet labour pains Towers and walls Trees and wolves And home, o’er horizons many Powers and laws Beasts and soil And home, in our bones, there buried

And merry souls laugh as the summer unfurls Yelling across the parks of this shell of a world It it feels like a grand house in ruin and decay And we jest about the rooms like lords and ladies of forgotten days And the bandstands there sorrowful because nobody plays And the leaves are ever waving whilst nobody takes It it feels like a grand house in ruin and decay And we wander round the rooms one last time before we go away And when the world is ruined yet the earth shall remain And where a story wanders lost, another one begins It it feels like a grand house in ruin and decay And we smile upon its tired walls once more before new futures make their way

History is gathered into you, Dear Millions of dawns and setting suns If you could feel all you carry in your bones If you could know of all the dawns to come But you’re small You’re the edge of knife Fragile and tactile and you mark for life You’re small You’re the moment in-between All that was before you And all that yet will be History is gathered into you, Dear The history of all that is to come Shall burst out of your days, as the river runs And rush into the age as the ocean But you’re small And your days are all you know The past, your silent passenger Hidden there below You’re small Your days are all you see And futures like ghosts do hover There above your dreams