The Playground Skara Brae

Tell me mother, tell me when the curtain falls,
Will the seats be empty
Will the last thing fate recalls
Be the driftwood on the skyline scratching out my name,
Or will it be the bumbletree that plays the giving game
Beowulf is not the one to blame.
Mother, our two worlds just aren't the same.

Just inside the foyer sits an ancient box,
The etching says Pandora and it runs like melting clocks.
In the box there is a feline and a jar of tetracide
And idly we wonder if that cat has up and died,
And in my mind that cat will be my guide.
Dr. Schroedinger is right there by our side.

Come to the Playground Skara Brae
Say the things the children say,
Free your skies from clouds of grey
As the hours drift away.

Throw down all your seaweed,
No more scritching flakes
Or big old nasty ugly hairy scary fire drakes.
Bake a batch of bubbly Johnny cakes,
Eat them right up now for goodness sakes.

Straighten up you lilly bunks,
Hang your brow to dry.
Take the hand of Aquaman you needn't tell him why.
Long-haired freaky people need apply.
Beowulf is just another guy.

Come to the Playground Skara Brae
Say the things the children say,
Free your skies from clouds of grey
As the hours drift away.
See the willows as they sway,
Hear the pillows as they pray,
Taste the ocean's salty spray
At the Playground Skara Brae!


(Adam Bilsky - co-author)

No recording available
Copyright 1993 Zach London

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