Peter Sinfield Envelopes Of Yesterday
I feel like a rusty key I don't fit any door
You stole my cloudy castles but you didn't say what
for.
You said I didn't have the eyes to paint out in the
street
Without a standard martyr's hat and neon sloganned
feet.
To eat, it seems, I needed you for crumbs your need was
me.
We cheered and passed the sanguine flask till the ice
man made me see
At five o'clock you could never wash your printer's
stain
away;
So I count you lost and your words I've tossed
In the bleary envelopes of yesterday.
I feel like a tumbling kite there's no hand on my reel.
I dived aboard your star-bright ship to find you'd left
the
wheel
To hunt some upstart passengers who had gambled with
their fare
Then trumpeted the hull with holes and laughing gone
by air.
Whilst most of us who stayed aboard slipped brandy to
the crew
John Purser locked his iron box and pointed at the
queue.
Still working out the price of time no echoes will we
lay;
So I've burnt the till and I've thrown the bills
In the weary envelopes of yesterday.
I need to suck the breasts of time and freeze her milk
in
ink
To juggle cruets full of dreams and balance on the
brink.
Don't blame me if my smoke and steam obscured your
rutted track,
I only meant to startle you not offer you my back
To ride upon and overload with your jars of unbaked
clay.
You can find your guide to the pulpit ride
in the dreary envelopes of yesterday.
I'm upside down I'm an empty town my eyes are full of
ghost
Of dusty windowed certainty and spider-webbed almost.
I love, I hate this rock and roll the ladies and the
lights
Ate all my flowers long ago but the roots came through
all right.
Whilst now my toast is the crossroads post, I hear just
out of sight,
That the Black Pick's found his Chaldean lamp
After years in a concentration camp.
But I fear he's still out on the ice
With his bagpipe mouth and his cup of crimson speiss.
Still, I've fulfilled a host of dreams for that I'll
cry hurray
But it won't be long till I cast this song
In the jet-edged envelopes......
