The Glory Vise

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 * co-written with Paul Norman Tapp

No second thought everything’s cool
But with so much afoot someone must be fool
Encumbered by greed overtaken by need
Deception free falling snow-balling in speed

Bird’s nest rot infected crown
The emperor’s tears come raging down
Cross the face of the nation to the feet of men
That’s the story now that’s the story then

Shoeless children march with rags on their feet
The braggart’s brash boast we dare to repeat
We ooze the spoiled charms of a beggar’s lice
Under the screws of the Glory Vise

Dead men poised positioned to ignite
Setting fire to the silent night
A tinder promise suspends disbelief
Subdued faith renewed secure lifting grief

We wanna’ keep rising but how high can we float
Anchor keeps sinking concrete arms in our coat
Underpinning trashed supports drift downstream
These floods uprooted the common man’s dream

Spinning unconscious hands giddy rise
Raising the roof of false alibis
We spill on the table revolution’s loaded dice
Under the screws of the Glory Vise

Double dealing by design
A simple plan seems so benign
Meager minds imagine something grand
While the bait is switched in a slight of hand

When we needed a bridge we fell for a wall
When we needed to rise we suffered a fall
So who can stand tall now test their belief
Who gets to exhale sigh their relief

Who appears perfect divining our fate
Who is honestly attempting to relate
Please state your pleasure so we may entice
Under the screws of the Glory Vise

On an icy road rig-less pirouetting in his cab
An ice skater trucker takes a splendid stab
At beauty over duty judge says it was a ten
Of alcohol measured then sends him to the pen

Where he picks up litter along state highways
Such is fate’s road and the counting of days
Sees trucks rolling ponders wrong turn he took
It was all a sales pitch he was ripe for a rook

Through sheer repetition they came to deceive
They sold him so often he came to believe
You can walk on water he’s skating on thin ice
Under the screws of the Glory Vise

Bride n’ gloom master and slave
Who was it said we dig our own grave
Insecure shovel pitiful pick
Excavate … the tired and the sick

Unearthed conscious exposed dream
In reality’s light often extreme
The warden drinks from a prisoner’s tin cup
If we dig our own grave then who covers us up

Time is broken tomorrow won’t heal
In the future we don’t get to choose our last meal
The divorced man dines on wedding rice
Under the screws of the Glory Vise

Passionate princess with eloquent hands
Makes no fist when stating demands
Poised polished manipulator of the arts
Smug and demure a collector of hearts

A bird in the sky the man in the street
Follows its flight trips on his own feet
Stumbles for balance manages not to fall
Plain to the princess he’s no prince at all

Nocturnal mothers rendered a pawn
Weep for their children midnight till dawn
Sleepwalking still shoeless such is sacrifice
Under the screws of the Glory Vise

All that flutters all that swirls
Distracts us from unseen worlds
And all we hear sensational and the freak
Because daily need has no voice to speak

Motivated dollar emotional counterfeit
Cuts out compassion with a razor’s wit
Somebody knows the truth but he will not say
Preferring the precious be allowed to slip away

Solitude boasts a reservoir
But he lusts for attention charities whore
Knows the big cheese sets traps for blind mice
Under the screws of the Glory Vise

Flailing fanatic lunatic binge
Too much planet to plot revenge
Skipping over the also ran
Speaking his heart as only a madman can

Comet’s choice fast and quick
The sky rains down stone and stick
The crippled farmer sweat and toil
Broken bones grow from the soil

The farmer’s wife feels quite ill
With a heavy heart she prepares a meal
It’s humble pie she serves you a slice
Under the screws of the Glory Vise

Alas the hapless ass falls on their own knife
A fork is lifted a deserted life
Pursuing amusements with a tyrant’s might
Burdened with a glutton’s appetite

Having indulged the discord of the day
A Pandered prince with no “goodnight” to say
But here’s to the dead ass we hear him toast
As we bid adieu our unhappy host

Starving servants clear the wasted table
Sneak a scrap when they’re able
Flatter one self reconcile this price
Under the screws of the Glory Vise

Lyrics & melody by Paul Norman Tapp. Music & arrangement by jtr.

 - April 2020 -                                                                                                                                   #331