Call to Heaven
Apropos of nothing: some of my favorite poetry/music.
Cannons roared, in the valley they thundered, while the guns lit up the night.
Then it rained and both sides wondered who is wrong and who is right.
On the wire like a ragged old scarecrow, bloody hands and broken back.
When they fire, see him pirouette solo, jump in time to the rat-a-tat.
What a night though it’s one of seven; what a night for the dancing dead.
What a night to be called to heaven — what a picture to fill your head.
By the wall in silhouette standing through a flash of sudden light,
Cigarette from his mouth just hanging, paper square to his heart pinned tight.
Gathered round, reluctant marksmen, one of them to take his life.
With a smile he gives them pardon, leaves the dark and takes the light.
They dispatch their precious cargo, knock him back right off his feet.
And they pray may no one follow; better still to face the Beast.
When the field has become a garden, and when the wall has stood the test…
Children play and dogs run barking; who would think and who would guess?
What a night though it’s one of seven; what a night for the dancing dead.
What a night to be called to heaven — what a picture to fill your head.
“Call to Heaven” from Patty Smyth’s album Never Enough, 1987
Lyrics by Tony Clarkin
Comments