Cheshire Tree
Suite -
The lyrics
Lyrics:
The Big Now
Someone Has Stolen
My Star
Lost Lake
What Life Is
Cheshire Tree Segue
Cheshire Tree
News of the Flood
Welcome to the Vise
The Ruins of Babylon
New Music for Morris Dancing
The Living and the
Dead
Cheshire Tree
Reprise
The Unexpected.
Lyrics
Someone Has
Stolen My Star
Someone has stolen my star
Someone's snuffed out the candle that guides me
Leaving me groping blind in the dark
Keeping me hoping with a hood over my heart
Someone's stolen my star
Someone's dampened the fire inside me
Leaving a smoldering bed of ash and coal
While a taste for possessions gets a foothold in my soul
Someone's stolen my star, has snapped the strings on my guitar,
And I can't play in tune anymore,
'Cause I can't hear my Muse anymore
Someone has stolen my star,
Now I wander in search of a reason,
Refusing to settle for less than is mine,
Rejecting the vinegar that others call wine,
Someone has stolen my star, has sapped my inner reservoir,
And I've nothing to lose anymore,
'Cause I can't hear my Muse anymore,
Leaving me groping blind in the dark,
Keeping me hoping with a hood over my heart
Lost Lake
I knew a man whose heart went opaque,
As he measured his life by the money he'd make,
I saw a man turn his back on his trade,
To service the debts that his fantasies made,
He gained the whole world to what profit, I ask you?
To what profit, I ask you, he gained the whole world. . .
I knew a man who made pretense to friends,
And curried goodwill as a means to other ends,
I knew a man who, succumbing to fear,
Let sycophants and slanderers tickle his ears,
He gained the whole world to what profit, I ask you?
He gained the whole world to what profit, I ask you?
He gained the whole world, to
What prophet foretold that he'd set out so boldly
To cross the Lost Lake of the Loveless?
What seer divined that he'd stumble so blindly
Into the Lost Lake of the Loveless?
I knew a man dangling carrots on sticks,
Before the gaunt riverman crossing the Styx,
Arriving on shore he assumed all was well,
For systems run smoothly in Eternal Hell,
He gained the whole world to what profit, I ask you?
He gained the whole world to what profit?
He gained the whole world, to
What prophet foretold that he'd set out so boldly
To cross the Lost Lake of the Loveless?
What seer divined that he'd stumble so blindly
Into the Lost Lake of the Loveless?
And there at the bottom the grinning skulls lay
Of Mark David Chapman and Dorian Gray
>>From out of its depths he did not emerge whole:
I knew a man who abandoned his soul,
Neglected to notice that he'd donned a painted mask,
'Til it fused to his face and no creature could deprive him of
it.
What Life Is*
I was on my way to the wedding feast,
When I met up with a member of the walking deceased.
He had lately returned from a trip to the East,
He had a look on his face like the Mark of the Beast.
And he turned;, and he said to me,
--Do you know what life is, son?
It's a lichen on a dry rock in Siberia,
A rodent in the road in Rhodesia,
Where dogs eat dogs and flies eat frogs,
And I'm a part of it and you're a part of it
And we;'re a part of it,
It's the pearl in the apple of your Eiffel Tower,
A quarter for a beggar with misgiving,
Where greed makes gold and gold makes power,
And there's no other life than the one that you're living,
So when the Dream is over,
Then you're left with carrion. . . .
Well I looked up the road down which he'd come,
Littered with his load and all he'd laid to waste,
His face was corporate headquarters, but his heart was a slum,
His mind was racing, but no one was chasing.
And I beheld the deadened thickness,
The wall of self between the Now and the Here,
A man of importance had melted to sickness,
I stepped downwind and I smelled the fear,
And I returned, and I said to him,
--Do you wanna know what life is, Mister,
Just toss a pebble in a clear lake in Illyria,
Or find the feather of a swan in Botswana,
An atom cloud on a barren atoll,
A plume of maroon in a school of piranha,
It's the curl on the forehead of some foreign power,
A fusillade of bullets at the border,
Where fortune smiles while misdeeds flower,
An island of chaos in a sea of disorder,
But when the Dream is over,
Then each breath will carry song,
Then each breath will carry song.
The Cheshire
Tree
You can't shake the Cheshire Tree
You can't shake the Cheshire Tree
You can play the calliope,
You can't shake the Cheshire Tree
You can't shake the Cheshire Tree,
But you can savor the mystery,
The leaves come first, then the branches,
The luck comes first, then your chances,
The Dream comes first, then the dances,
The leaves come first, then the branches,
The leaves come first, then the branches,
Then the branches!
Nor with all your global industry,
Or your middle class degree
You can't shake. . . the Cheshire Tree!
You can't shake the Cheshire Tree,
Nor wake Tweedledum or Tweedledee,
But you can savor the mystery, the mystery,
The leaves come first, then the branches,
The luck comes first, then your chances,
The Dream comes first, then the dances,
The leaves come first, then the branches,
The gift withheld best advances,
Delight delayed thus enhances,
Chacun a son provenances, a son
Provenances!
(Nor with all your vital indices,
Or arcane philosophies, you can't shake
The Cheshire Tree!)
Welcome to the
Vise
Welcome to the vise, it's a long, slow squeeze
If we want to pay the price
We can bring him to his knees
There's gonna be a war
And I can't do nothin', can't do nothin' about it,
No I can't do nothin', can't do nothin' about it,
No I can't do nothin', can't do nothin', 'cept
Sweat on the bench, hover in the trench,
Have another cigarette,
Hear the distant callers in their golden minarets,
Down another quart, watch the news report
Keep trying to forget. . . that there's gonna be
A war, the likes of which you've never seen,
'Cause everybody needs a fighting chance, a chance
To ventilate a little spleen,
Sweat on the bench, hover in the trench,
Have another cigarette,
Hear the distant callers in their golden minarets,
Down another quart, watch the news report
Keep trying to forget. . .
Welcome to the vise, I feel sure you're all at ease,
In the comfort of your Cadillacs,
With the flicker of your teevees,
Well ya better watch 'em now,
'Cause there'll never be a sequel,
On the promised continent of Similac and Equal,
Down another quart, watch the news report, keep trying to,
Fill 'er up again but call your congressmen, keep trying to,
Burn another quart, hear the guns' report, keep trying to forget
That there's gonna be a war,
And it won't be my fault, it'll be yours:
Welcome to the vise.
The Ruins of
Babylon
Hunkered down here hunkered down in the crater of some
Cavalier idea of protection
Afraid of the wind of the wells of the winter of the
Black cloud glooming hanging heavy
Black cloud rolling in
I wipe the grime from my skin
Black tide rolling
Hunkered down here in the clutch in the cradle of
Some austere-veneered profession,
Contemplate the spin of the sphere,
And the surface of its great lake,
its green beings breathing in the atmosphere
'Cause I've lived long enough to see empires fall,
Feel tectonics rumble, know Utopia's pall,
As I survey the ruins of Babylon,
I wonder what fickle fate has in store for us all.
'Cause I've lived long enough to know prophecies fail,
That jackals roam wild while subversives get nailed,
As I survey the ruins of Babylon,
I hear the song of the victors turn to the dirge of the assailed.
Hunkered down here, embraced by the angel and free of fear
I embark for another world.
They cast a million people from their homes
But left the tyrant on his throne,
Wrap another poor stiffie in the flag unfurled,
But I knew love enough to make living divine,
Fel;t shame for my country though honor was mine,
And I surveyed the ruins of Babylon,
Took leave of my senses, and departed time.
The Living and
the Dead
The knotwork interweaves with clover
'Round the base of the stone
Marking the life of Michael Furey
Maiden Gretta gathers flowers in the morning
Wrens and robins build nests in the trees
Lament lingers on within her spirit
"I can almost hear the sound of his voice through the
breeze."
While on the grass dancers ring,
Ships set sail, children sing,
Orpheus looked back and lost everything
"I followed delight in her eyes,
Stole up to her window,
She bade me go home in the rain,
I'd not ever, never, see her again"
Now on the lawn cats run free
Birds in ubiquity
Romeo's banished, innocence gone
And the snow keeps falling faintly
With cool indifference
Covering all the living and the dead
I keep hearing the furies (calling faintly)
And I cannot forget
All the living and the dead
"And I can't live without her brightness,
To satisfy the longing, to mollify the pain,
So the passion that gave my being lightness
Drowned in the cruel December rain."
I keep hearing the furies (I keep hearing the furies)
And I cannot forget
All the living and the dead
All the living and the dead
All the living and the dead
Cheshire Tree
Reprise
You can't shake the Cheshire Tree
You can't shake the Cheshire Tree
You can drink of Mnemosyne,
You can't shake the Cheshire Tree
The sheaves come first, then the growing,
The teaching must precede the knowing,
And relief comes when you're past consoling,
Nor with all your elite phantasies,
Or quaint epistemologies, you can't shake. . .
You can't shake the Cheshire Tree
But you can drink of Mnemosyne
The leaves come first,
The leaves come first.
Many remarkable people helped me
musically with this project.
Among them are Alex Artaud, Derek Bianchi, Rob Carr, Barry
Cleveland, Lygia Ferra, Vladimir Kalistov, Frank Lev, Alan
Lipton, Michael Masley, Kerry Parker, Dan Reiter, Chuck Rosene,
Kevin Toney, and Radim Zenkl. Almost all of the music was
recorded at Muscletone Studio, Berkeley, California (Derek
Bianchi, engineer), except for "New Music for Morris
Dancing" and the canon before and after "The Living and
the Dead," which were recorded at home, the harmonium in
"Cheshire Tree," which was recorded in the narthex of the First Unitarian Church of Oakland, and "The
Unexpected," which was recorded at the Lodge, Oakland,
California (Barry Cleveland, engineer). John Stout lent me
equipment which enabled me to produce the master that became this
CD, and Ron Bascom provided valuable Photoshop assistance with
the artwork.
Where present (gift copies), the cover painting appears by kind permission of Peter Sis.
My wife Beth is ever a source of inspiration for which I am eternally grateful.
Please direct inquiries, comments, reviews, etc. to
L. Maxwell Taylor
P.O. Box 1968
Brattleboro, Vermont 05301
United States of America
All rights
reserved.
Lyrics reproduced with the kind permission of Lou Maxwell Taylor,
©1999
except * ("What Life Is") © 1991 by Alan Lipton & Lou
Maxwell Taylor.
Last update, 05/28/00.
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