We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
Sixteen years, Sixteen banners united over the field Where the good shepherd grieves. Desperate men, desperate women divided, Spreading their wings 'neath the falling leaves.
Fortune calls. I stepped forth from the shadows, to the marketplace, Merchants and thieves, hungry for power, my last deal gone down. She's smelling sweet like the meadows where she was born, On midsummer's eve, near the tower.
The cold-blooded moon. The captain waits above the celebration Sending his thoughts to a beloved maid Whose ebony face is beyond communication. The captain is down but still believing that his love will be repaid.
They shaved her head. She was torn between Jupiter and Apollo. A messenger arrived with a black nightingale. I seen her on the stairs and I couldn't help but follow, Follow her down past the fountain where they lifted her veil.
The rest of the lyrics on continuation page below
I stumbled to my feet. I rode past destruction in the ditches With the stitches still mending 'neath a heart-shaped tattoo. Renegade priests and treacherous young witches Were handing out the flowers that I'd given to you.
The palace of mirrors Where dog soldiers are reflected, The endless road and the wailing of chimes, The empty rooms where her memory is protected, Where the angels' voices whisper to the souls of previous times.
She wakes him up Forty-eight hours later, the sun is breaking Near broken chains, mountain laurel and rolling rocks. She's begging to know what measures he now will be taking. He's pulling her down and she's clutching on to his long golden locks.
Gentlemen, he said, I don't need your organization, I've shined your shoes, I've moved your mountains and marked your cards But Eden is burning, either brace yourself for elimination Or else your hearts must have the courage for the changing of the guards.
Peace will come With tranquility and splendor on the wheels of fire But will bring us no reward when her false idols fall And cruel death surrenders with its pale ghost retreating Between the King and the Queen of Swords.
Brings back memories. I used to work in Mount Vernon NY and lived In Sussex NJ, about a 65 mile commute. I worked 2:30 to !!:00 PM. I'd hit this pizza place on White Plains Rd in the Bronx and pick up a sausage and pepper calzone and a six pack from the grocer. Go across the GW bridge on to Rt 80 to St Rt 23 north in my 73' lime Love Bug (Herby). Changing Of the Guards would come on and I would sing the chorus with the black girls at the top of my lungs. Ah, the good old days.