In the air there flies a lark,
A lark whose name is Clever-Sad.
He flies around a circle wide,
Above the streets so worn and dried.

He looks right down in search of light,
And sees a house that’s painted white,
With purple chimney, orange door,
Lime-green carpet on the floor,

And “There”, he says, “I will reside.
That’s a home where I could stay
With people, animals, free all day,
And if I’m not, I’ll fly away.”

The house lay standing on its own
Within the corner of a square.
Dreary houses all surround,
And no one else was living there.

The city of Strangeness deserted was:
The people left so long ago.
They left the lark here on his own,
Nothing to say, nothing to know.

Why? I question, tell me why,
If larks like us are born to cry,
Then will the nothing overcome us,
Or will we all lay down to die?

Know not I what we can do
When sun dies down and day is through.
We’ll lay our wings upon the ground,
And pile ourselves into a mound,

And every lark shall make no sound:
Nothing to disturb the nothing, so I say!
We’ll just roll our bodies round,
And see the sky turn blue to grey.

We will watch and we will wait,
Whilst all the time grows stale and late,
And as the night it slowly creeps,
Strangeness City forever sleeps.


© 2000 Matt Everett