We are the singers of salt and stone,

We are the singers of heroes unsung minding beat with our hearts

Stepping time in twine the stories we know.

We sing the songs of youth,

We sing the songs of elderly,

We sing the songs of our mentors

And pray our songs reach our students,

So that they be inspired to write,

Of Pride and Sensibility,

Or Sense and Prejudice.

We sing in amphitheatre’s and auditoriums.

We sing with much applause in lecture-rooms,

And with cold critique in tutorial-rooms.

We sing where we have sung and will continue to sing.

Our songs will die a Youngman’s death

And be reborn a Lady Lazarus out of the ash.

We tell tales long forgotten to unwilling ears and eyes unappreciative.

Our songs will sing the love of danger,

Take roads less travelled

And compare you to a summers day.

 

So when I am dead and laid to bed

In a tomb by the sounding sea.

Let my songs be read and sung and read

Let singers see me as us and we,

To tell tales of Larks and Gales in flight,

of Wastelands vast and terrible blights.

All while singing of Reckless Abandon,

And walking in the Black Parade,

To the beat of the songs with the words we have read.

From those words our songs are made.

 

WE/ME (first draft)

 

We sing in this class

We are the singers of our own heart-beating in time with the tune.

We are the singers of songs unknown and heroes unsung.

We sing the songs of youth,

We sing the songs of elderly,

We sing the songs of our fathers

And pray our songs reach our songs,

We sing in amphitheatre’s and auditoriums.

We sing with much applause in lecture-rooms,

And with cold critique in tutorial-rooms.

Our songs will die a Youngman’s death

And be reborn a Lady Lazarus, a miracle.

We tell tales long forgotten to ears unwanting and eyes unappreciative.

We want to sing the love of danger,

Take roads less travelled

And compare women to a summers day.