Election Day

Election Day

 

The riots were forgotten,

just some ghosts out on the street:

no more peasants holding pole arms;

no more doors marked by the Beast.

We will wake up in a meadow

with the sky a diamond bowl:

no more films by Ingmar Bergman;

Max Von Sydow keep your soul.

 

We will vote two days from Sunday; dry your cheek

We will vote two days from Sunday; dry your cheek

 

Nearby a troop of actors,

rehearsing for a play;

this one plays the king's son,

memorizing what he'll say.

Beware the sneak assassin

and don’t listen to loose talk;

we’ll hire armies of our outcasts,

huddled in the dark.

 

We will vote two days from Sunday; dry your cheek

We will vote two days from Sunday; dry your cheek

 

I am thinking on Lon Chaney,

on pentagrams and grief,

how the wolf finally released him

in a film that no one sees.

I am thinking on your heartbeats,

which I desperately try to start;

I wish this world of ours would slow down

long enough to talk.

 

We will vote two days from Sunday; dry your cheek

We will vote two days from Sunday; dry your cheek

We will vote two days from Sunday; dry your cheek

 

(Life Underwater Music, 2004)

James O'Brien