The Pipes of Piper Down

A loud, loud noise — it cushioned me,

Frightened me, in fog of sea.

A wooden plank beneath of me, I thought some thoughts of gravity.

I wondered, with echoes, the lengths of time.

My soul a songbird, my soul a mime.

The organ played, it knew my crime, and I was sunk, before the chime.

A man he rose to speak with me, to others too, with courtesy.

He said be blessed, He said be free, He said find peace in deepest sea.

I knew the moment he began his plea, the target this day was the target of me.

I could have cried, for buckets and hours, my weepjuice climbing to highest towers.

I was a monkey, surrounded by powers, the field of me, under greater plowers.

I wanted to fidget, that poor man who cowers, but locked was I in a Gaze which scours.

They asked me did I believe in God, I looked at them like they were odd.

Does any fool doubt how this Earth was Shod? I waited my back to meet their rod.

Inside a great net I was their cod, but it wasn’t their catch — I was marooned by God.

And so the organ played on, walls shaking, My deepest insides, they were constantly quaking.

All of my deeds and my thoughts, they were raking, A lump of dough, made of me, was baking.

They said I could leave, the door was there, for the taking. But my thirst was large, and it hungered for slaking.

My legs they hurt, and things further found, for all of the candles and holy gown.

I knew I could not just leave this town, without releasing a holy moan.

And so I unbattened my hatches down, and steered the ship of me around.

I said “dear Lord”, if you’d hear me at all, why I called him dear I can not recall.

“I hate you” I said, with a terrible bawl, but I’ve a feeling inside you’re the all and all.

I see your pictures, I read your scrawl, Would you terribly mind it, if I confess my fall?

I am not a good man, I can barely crawl, and I’ve made quite a fool of my parents’ call

I’d want to be better, but I’m hardly unsinister, I’d blush every deacon and fool every minister

I’ve started many times, I’m a very poor finisher

Lean in if you will, I’m just a thin whisper

I stepped in here from rain, there’s no sense to deny it

And each time I’ve come there’s a monk who says try it

I quietly desire it, but in my heart there’s a riot.

Yet, play on, dear steampipe, shine forth colored window

I feel birth pains inside, and I mean no innuendo

This God is a storm that I’ve somehow walked into, “tis better than a whale to be his little minnow.”

And down went my tears and arose went some singers, and clasped went my heart and the knots of my fingers

Then down on my knees with those sleepy leg stingers, I told Him the rest of my story which lingers.

And when I stood up, there were many bell ringers. Some on earth, some up There, Some with Angelic Singers.

And the organ it stopped,

and a quiet came forth,

and it was there in that place that I’d finally struck North.