| You only see them briefly
|
| Perhaps just one edition
|
| Their end-of-year photo stares out
|
| You only see them briefly
|
| Then it’s muggin' politicians
|
| Cock-eyed, their faces stare out
|
| But for some their image still burns bright
|
| Like the glow of a tiger or a light
|
| Switched-off, but once stared-at
|
| With such intense concentration
|
| You only see them briefly
|
| Then it’s idle conversation
|
| Their perfect frozen bodies
|
| You only see them briefly
|
| Then it’s fear and degradation
|
| Their dusty, bloody bodies lie
|
| But for some their image still burns bright
|
| Like the glow of a tiger or a light
|
| Switched-off, but once stared-at
|
| With such intense concentration
|
| And what shoulder and what art
|
| Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
|
| And when thy heart began to beat
|
| What dread hands? |
| And what dread feet?
|
| What the hammer? |
| What the chain?
|
| In what furnace was thy brain?
|
| What the anvil? |
| What dread grasp
|
| Dare its deadly terror grasp!
|
| You only see them briefly
|
| Then it’s shame and flagellation
|
| Their end-of-year photos stare out
|
| When the stars threw down their spears
|
| And watered heaven with their tears
|
| Did he smile his work to see?
|
| Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
|
| You only see them briefly
|
| Then reach to change the station
|
| Their frozen perfect faces stare out |