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lirik lagu the tip of an arrow – richard dawson

[verse]
isagoge is my daughter
and i am called temperance
we live here together
in the old roman villa

now is our evening lessen
hunched in the candleflushed rubble
of this once*opulent atrium

whittled down the poplar shafts
where needed gently bending flat
rub them smooth upon the flap of thresher*sharkshin
touch your newly*whetted scarmsax to the thinnest end
and cut the nocks in
nеxt with beeswax we glue on
the flеtchings of a whooper swan
make them fast with sinew wrought
from the void left by a horse
the bones of our innocent dead
we’ll fashion arrowheads

she asks why we spent precious time crafting our sheaves by hand
when we could acquire all we need from the bastle at beadnell
or one of the abundant caskets of parting cloud
which every sundown
float to ground on their dark balloons

i answer her as best i may
“that in a world such as today’s
where each person can display a bounty of data
on the quivering cave wall of their eyeball
at the merest fl!ck of a lash
the only facts of any worth
are not so easily dispersed”
yes, it matters how we learn
real knowledge must be earned
everything else is a husk
“wisdom’s simulacrum”

[chorus 1]
to the interior, we ride at pace
the greyhounds swaddled in our laps
sun blazing on our backs
we dismount in mountainshade
and go on foot, bows readied
into the realm of the fabled three*faced hare
[instrumental break]

[verse]
how gracefully she navigates
the craggy boulder*strewn terrain
my best ever daughter is fast*flowing water
a funny thing occurs
it’s the first time a child of mine has grown past the age of 10
making me the younger one
rocks go sliding into air
hands of cloud ruffle our hair
as we coin the bluff towards the entrance of the beast’s lair
near the top, we hunker down
in the glitching [?] of a thistle bush, to wait for him there
seconds, minutes, hours drip their way down the darkened porchway
azure dissolves to pink, and just as we begin to think
about giving up and heading home, there comes a fearful music

[chorus 2]
draw back your bow
and slow your lungs
when the cross grows
release your hungry arrow
i hear you whisper “no”
your arrow falls limp in the [?]
the monster retreats
you wipe the tears from my cheek, ah
ah, ah
[outro]
isagoge is my daughter
and i am called temperance

- richard dawson

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