when the party is over where will we go
if the shepherd is lost how do we know
here in the soil of the seeds we sow,
something is germinating
shiny leaders in a row
the shiny futures that they bestow
little sheep learn to ‘yes’ and ‘no’
as long as they’re behaving
stars they glimmer and kingdoms fall
old papers pile up in the hall
and when we need it most of all
the band begins to play …
let the flock roam free
may their every dream be reared
their fleeces is as white as snow
when all the chains are sheared
trinkets and treasures, whistles and bells
units and measures, heavens and hells
the buyer he buys what the seller he sells
but who is stocking the window?
pastures of plenty, fences and pens
poets and painters and the wounds that they mend
the respondent receives what the sender he sends
out for delivery
the sandbox, the village, the drawing of lines
the spinning of yarns, the aging of wines
the glorious feast on which all of time dines
the flax is turning to gold
work boots and slippers, strawberries and thighs
grist mills and dance halls, scriptures and lies
the prize fighter fighting for his chosen prize
a trophy up on the shelf
the heartbeat, the hammer, the tornado, the barn
from born in the stable until buying the farm
all of life’s treasures protected from harm
in an old gunny sack …
we wont get these days back …
let the flock roam free
may their every dream be reared
their fleece is as white as snow
when all the chains are sheared
springtimes and flowers, the time the clock tells
field-calls and hollers, earmarks and tells
a small fortune in coin fills the wishing wells
the dreams all go a-splashing
crooked old geezers, rosy young tots
assorted contenders, the haves and have-nots
the division of labour, the drawing of lots
the spinner sits a-spinning
the primrose path, the gilded lilies
one polished prayer on two dusty knees
a breath of jasmine swept up by the breeze
like a ship swept into harbour
the morning that’s leaving the old night bereft
a reveler still singing the only song left
the guillotine tongue and the marks it has cleft
just pull the wool from your eyes
kites in july, kisses in june
maybe november beneath the moon
and september is forever, ever too soon
what is there left to say …
it might as well be may …
let the flock roam free
may their every dream be reared
their fleece is as white as snow
when all the chains are sheared
let my flock roam free
may their every dream be reared
their fleece is as white as snow
when all the chains are sheared
if the shepherd is lost how do we know
here in the soil of the seeds we sow,
something is germinating
shiny leaders in a row
the shiny futures that they bestow
little sheep learn to ‘yes’ and ‘no’
as long as they’re behaving
stars they glimmer and kingdoms fall
old papers pile up in the hall
and when we need it most of all
the band begins to play …
let the flock roam free
may their every dream be reared
their fleeces is as white as snow
when all the chains are sheared
trinkets and treasures, whistles and bells
units and measures, heavens and hells
the buyer he buys what the seller he sells
but who is stocking the window?
pastures of plenty, fences and pens
poets and painters and the wounds that they mend
the respondent receives what the sender he sends
out for delivery
the sandbox, the village, the drawing of lines
the spinning of yarns, the aging of wines
the glorious feast on which all of time dines
the flax is turning to gold
work boots and slippers, strawberries and thighs
grist mills and dance halls, scriptures and lies
the prize fighter fighting for his chosen prize
a trophy up on the shelf
the heartbeat, the hammer, the tornado, the barn
from born in the stable until buying the farm
all of life’s treasures protected from harm
in an old gunny sack …
we wont get these days back …
let the flock roam free
may their every dream be reared
their fleece is as white as snow
when all the chains are sheared
springtimes and flowers, the time the clock tells
field-calls and hollers, earmarks and tells
a small fortune in coin fills the wishing wells
the dreams all go a-splashing
crooked old geezers, rosy young tots
assorted contenders, the haves and have-nots
the division of labour, the drawing of lots
the spinner sits a-spinning
the primrose path, the gilded lilies
one polished prayer on two dusty knees
a breath of jasmine swept up by the breeze
like a ship swept into harbour
the morning that’s leaving the old night bereft
a reveler still singing the only song left
the guillotine tongue and the marks it has cleft
just pull the wool from your eyes
kites in july, kisses in june
maybe november beneath the moon
and september is forever, ever too soon
what is there left to say …
it might as well be may …
let the flock roam free
may their every dream be reared
their fleece is as white as snow
when all the chains are sheared
let my flock roam free
may their every dream be reared
their fleece is as white as snow
when all the chains are sheared