Every where there's secrets
some are dark, some light
Everywhere there's secrets
Some best kept out of sight
Everywhere there's secrets
Of the living and the dead
Everywhere there's secrets
Some are better left unsaid

Would you listen to what you heard
If these walls could talk
Would you be scared to hear
If these walls could talk
Sounds of when you sat and cried
If these walls could talk
Of the day that Mama up and died
If these walls could talk


Look about and you will see
A secret in disguise
Look about and you will see
Just don't look through your eyes
Look about and you will see
A secret, full of lies
Just look about and you will see
Where secrets soar and rise


Secrets buried in the walls
If these walls could talk
Of playing games in upstairs halls
If these walls could talk
Fighting behind bedroom doors
If these walls could talk
Would you listen to the open sores
If these walls could talk

Secrets hidden in plain sight
But absorbed by an old house
Secrets hidden in plain sight
Silent, quiet like a mouse
Secrets hidden in plain sight
of a hero or a louse
Secrets hidden in plain sight
Behind the walls of an old house

Scars and cuts and verbal stones
If these walls could talk
Could break our hearts and break our bones
If these walls could talk
Sounds of laughter and of moans
If these walls could talk
Would you hear the ancient, haunted tones
If these walls could talk

A circus lives inside my head

Fortune tellers control my fears

Clowns are in charge of my humor

All you can eat contests make me crave certain foods

A Ferris wheel of thoughts

A merry-go-round of emotions

Jugglers toss around my decisions

Fun House mirrors showing my insecurities

Face painters create my expressions

When will I become the ring master of my mind?

looking out into the street

there's a line a mile long

i haven't even opened yet

there must be something wrong

the line it stretches round the block

it doesn't make much sense

i feel a riot may break out

i start getting rather tense

the phone is ringing off the hook

i amazed at things i hear

i've never had a thought like that

i tell them 'stick it in your ear

they tell me, mate, that's just the point

i tell them to go on

i'm a paint store for the colour blind

i'm not a *** salon

for days the calls keep coming

i don't know what to say

i just run a small paint shop

known as fifty shades of grey

Bottom feeders flourish

When the economy's a bust

When bad times are the norm

And good times turn to dust

When neighborhoods go south it's sad

But a sign of their demise

Is when a bunch of pawn shops open up

Before your very eyes

When stores close down or move on out

After years in the same place

Their memory is a radar blip

They leave without a trace

But as fast as they lock up their doors

Another shop moves in

It's the local pawn shop dealer

He's a shark without a fin

Like dollar stores and boarded doors

The pawn shop shows the way

That business has moved on out

Or closed or moved away

They prey on peoples hardship

They broker deals without a care

They don't need to know your history

They just know that you're there

The street has three new pawn shops

Palaces of buy back stuff

It's bad when there is one around

But, three...well that's enough

One opened by the Jeweller

Two doors down across the street

Now he's buying up possessions

Of everyone he meets

Folks who purchased jewellery

From Old Cy at his old store

For each twenty of it's value

The pawn shop gives you four

Cy can't afford to buy back

He doesn't have much money left

And besides his store insurance

Doesn't cover much for theft

The people at the Pawn shops

Took jobs and live in town

They trained two counties over

They succeed when times are down

It's a sign of the recession

Downtown dies and fades away

And then the bottom feeders surface

Their the ones who're gonna stay

You can look in the shop windows

Know who bought what and from where

You know the candlesticks were bought at Cy's

And you know who bought them there

The guitar that hangs beside them

That was pawned by Emma Rose

She needed money for the bills

When the fresh fish plant had closed

There's a snapshot of the township

Sitting inside on their walls

They pawn shop is successful

While the economy still falls

You can see a piece and start to cry

For you know just why it's there

There's no one here to help them

There's no jobs and it's not fair

They open up each morning

While the nights dregs still sleep outside

They have done two hours business

Before lights on at Cy's

It's a sad and constant story

Of just what a town's become

But when asked if they've been in there

The inhabitants go "mumb"

They never seem to close up

The town's never make it back

While most places lose money

Pawn shops make it by the sack

The bluesman has some stuff there

The bartender has some too

Even though her bar's still going

She did what she had to do

The street, it is it's own world

Jewelly shops, banks and bars

But inside the local pawn shops

Are hidden all the scars.

you pour yourself into my vacancy
and I am unaware
love is a constant teacher

I was drinking at the Legion

The place wasn't really busy

But there was one man at a table

Who made me really dizzy

He was waving all around the room

He was really in a zone

The funny thing about it

He was sitting all alone

He spoke in quiet whispers

And he heard silent replies

From chairs that sat there empty

He heard their mournful cries

He had a beer before him

But he never left his chair

And no one sat beside him

It's just like he wasn't there

So, I went about my business

Playing darts and shooting pool

Buying tickets for the meat draws

Watching young ones acting cool

The other active members

Who'd spent some time in battle

Always checked to see his beer was full

As he sat there spouting prattle

It's unwritten at the Legion

You never ask about the war

You just revel in their company

That's what the place is for

There's veterans who'll tell stories

Of years gone bye and bye

But, you never ask a question

"Did you see somebody die?"

The Actives know their station

The young ones though do not

It's because of all the Actives

They've got all that they've got

As time went on I wondered

The story of this man

So , I went and asked the barkeep

He said "I'll tell you what I can"

He served two brews and wiped a glass

He stood flashing a smile

"You'd better grab a chair my boy"

"This here might take a while"

I sat and listened as he talked

About this man distressed

He told me "His name's Harold"

"And you can say his mind is messed"

"I've been working here for twenty years

And he's been here twice that

He's never moved from that **** chair

That's where Harold's always sat"

He got up once to fill a glass

And then came back to me

"When I came here, I had just got home

"I'd been fighting overseas"

"From what I heard at first" he said

"Harold's always been that way"

"And as you can see from watching"

"He'll always stay that way"

"He's lost inside his mind you know

To June 6  in forty four"

"We both know that as D-Day

"But he knows it as more"

"It was Juno Beach from what I've told

he landed with his squad

Over 14,000 Canadians

And now most lie with God"

I then got up and went outside

I said "I need a break"

I went out for a cigarette

For this tale had made me shake

I went back in, got two more beers

And sat right down again

"His whole platoon went down that day

They'd lost 3,000 men"

"There was Harold and 300

"others who survived"

"But living life inside their heads"

"I think they'd wished they'd died"

"He lives with Jean, his sister"She's been there all his life

"She put her life on hold for him

"She's never been a wife"

"She pays me for his beer every month

"And says to keep some for me

"But a penny's never crossed my bar

"You see ...Old Harold drinks for free"

"I give her money now and then

"I say he won a draw"

"Just for showing up each day I say

"just that and nothing more"

I went and grabbed a bar rag

And I wiped my teary eyes

I then paid for my drinks and

I left fifty bucks besides

He said your bill's eight fifty

What's all the extra for?

I said that he could keep it

Or just put it in his draw

He nodded and he smiled

And I left the bar for home

And as I left I watched poor Harold

On Juno Beach, his mind, his home

I came back three months later

And I saw no Harold there

There was now an empty table

And now, four empty chairs

"Dear God, it's you"....the barkeep said

"Grab your coat, come with me"

"Harold died on Saturday"

"And his funeral's at three"

He died a war time hero

But still a prisoner all the same

And down at our old Legion

Very few knew Harold's name

When we got out to the gravesite

I expected to see more

But there was just Old Harold's sister

The priest and us two...made it four.

We said a prayer, and sang a Hymn

He was back with his Platoon

He was back on Juno Beach again

Where his life ended that June

It's a shame that no one came out

To see him on his way

But, there'll be me and Bill the barkeep

Every year and on this day.

You know what would look great on the library wall?
Maybe, perhaps, a wrecking ball.
Who needs real books when we have the internet and e-readers?
Who needs live action plays when we have movie theaters?
Are you wondering why there isn't any shade in the park?
We needed to fill the playground with shavings of bark.
Who needs ideas when we have technological omnipotence?
Who needs a savior when we can be saved by our ignorance?

If you're shaking your head, let it be in a mirror,
until the mantra of this generation becomes clearer and clearer.
Consume. Materialize. Deceive. Repeat.
Gain it all for ourselves, it's Mother Nature's treat!
You don't have to believe our intent is for peace or procreation,
in order to confess you've contributed to the world's condemnation.
We were made to be stewards and by sharing, will thrive
if not in this world where the fittest [and fakest] survive.