Sofiul Azam - A Breeze of Wingèd Hours 2 lyrics

Hush! nobody cares: I have just fallen downstairs. So ravaged and plundered my heart lies that I hear scary noises ringing, with my ear down to the ground: anarchy's so starving it'll swallow down your spirits straight off; seems like a maze through which you will be led to misery. Obnoxious laws are nothing, absolutely nothing ­ half so much worth doing as simply messing about in life where I take warmth from the company that I keep with cronies in this concrete jungle. What is this I hear, like an incorrigible music of screams and laughter? like a grim address from the scaffold as grief is nearby: pluck thy spirits, be not afraid to do thine office; my neck's short; take heed so thou strike not awry, for saving of thine honesty? Anarchy adds to our perils. Freaks have no cares; what- ever happens in curt societies, they must get theirs. Just after my bath in burning sweat, I fall into a sleep, dreaming as if at the border of crisis, grace appeared (unmindful of risk and profit: that's an economist's job) ‘beautiful and terrible as an army arrayed for the battle'. So, trash all the murky troubles and come up smiling. It doesn't matter what I do as long as I don't praise the gratitude with which my countrymen sing: of course, we are with the breezes, the sunshine and refreshing rain; what if our wingèd hours of bliss are few like angel-visits? A layman's eyes I need to look for grace everywhere. There are always moments when we mortals realise: anarchy is alluring at night, by morning turns brutal; and its army they need to fight out on this knife's edge. Oops! I forgot to report: not too many are heart-broken over the fleeting dearth of valour or something like it. So far away from quarrels and narcotic whirls, I sing: somewhere across the clouds way up high in the sky, grace there is like the moon I heard of once in a lullaby; tell how long we shall walow in the mud of this pigsty. I know only a few stubborn blokes will blunder on.