An Infinite Algebra

This is an instrumental version. The saxophone plays the vocal line on the first verse, the electric guitar on the second.

I wrote the lyrics back at the time of the second Gulf War as a somewhat visceral reaction to the second Gulf War, the invasion of Iraq in 2003. Partly this was a response to Rumsfeld's demeanour and motivation, which seemed to reek of evil, cold an calculating, partly as a metaphor for the inhumanity that seemed to run so deeply throughout the attitudes and events of the time. Later on I wanted to use the song for something more positive but it didn't quite work, so I shall leave it in its original form.

The America referred to here is both the U.S.A itself and the blunt, fascistic power that that word conjures up in my mind as a symptom of all humanity, from the support given to the invasion from the 'coalition' to the acceptance of innocent deaths through the sanitising term of 'collateral damage'. 'America' is a fault not just of the United States but of the world as a whole. The corruption of a word ('America') that should be a positive one to one that so often feels horific and evil is one of the great sadnesses of the world.

However, the lyrics are about something other than just the literal and emotional reaction to the evils perpertrated by America, Britain and other, as well as those of the warlords and dictators with whom they contend when it suits national interests. There is also that mystical sense of a 'West' which at a more basic level has nothing at all to do with America. It is an idea that represents new, mysterious horizons, a life beyond death, Heaven perhaps. For me it has always been the North West - beyond the shores of Donegal. For Tolkien it was where the spiritual realms of his mythos was to be found. The second verse and chorus refers to this. it also attempts to make a connection between the natural blending of the spiritual and physical worlds through the 'pathetic fallacy' with the 'shock and awe' of the assault on Iraq. 

In the first verse Rumsfeld brings up images of the devil as depicted in CS Lewis' Perelandra.


Today I looked on evil;
It was wearing someone's face,
Picking at dismembered frogs
With bloodied fingernails,
Pulling at the nerves and tendons,
Breathing fear, consuming pain.

Delicate and tender,
His prey aching to the touch.
[check the lyrics]

The rockets' red glare,
Bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the nights
Whose flag was still there.
Oh, say, can you see
By dawn's early light,
Lit by oil...

The shock and the awe?
The death we brought?
With the spoils of war
The pain we wrought?
The ghost and the wraiths
And the grief we made
[check the lyrics]
...

Hoist the sail and call the gale
And turn to face the rain.
Conjure nature's grievous favour,
Summon up the waves.
Raise pathetic fallacies
To wash the words, the world away.

Come rain down on me,
Come tear down these veils,
Open the seas,
Come hoist the sail.
The winds from the East,
And darkness sets us free,
But I don’t want to leave.

For a myth across the sea,
Where once was hope and mystery,
Where souls and ghosts, the lost would flee,
A metaphor viewed from the East.

Where intelligence is a weapon,
Where mere life and death are irrelevant,
Where presidents consent to death,
Where every sin takes precedence,

Where every scent of burning flesh's,
A savoured, relished, pungent fragrance
And bombs that fall on tenements 
Shall cleanse and liberate the faithless.

All fear America. Set us free America.
All fear America. Set us free America.
All fear America. Set us free America.
All fear America. Free us from America.

Rumsfeld (instrumental Version)

The Secret Fire (Backing Sketch)

Theology Piano 05

Theology Piano 04

Theology Piano 03

Theology Piano 02

Theology Piano 01

For reference, this version has an ad lib guitar alongside the vocals of the last extended chorus. I prefer the version without the guitar (unusually for me - probably because I consider the lyrics to be important).

"So tell me about God, child."
Well, the little boy sighed:
"Well, God is invisible and God is a giant.
God lives in Heaven - it rains when he cries.
But God is impossible, according to science.

"But God doesn't scheme, sir, and God doesn't plan,
You're not a cog in his wheel, sir, God don't give a damn
'bout your anthropomorphisation, it's hard to understand God
When you act like a grown-up and think like a man."

God's your tears when you cry, dear child raise your head up,
God lives deep within you eyes, God's a metaphor for love.
Come take my hand, this is heaven whenever you smile at me
stay with me, when I need a friend.

"In patterns and whorls, sir, in fractals and fronds,
In super-ego and id, sir, in loneliness and love
There something fragile and beautiful, something we all long for
In suffering and joy, sir, that's where I find God."

God's the shepherd and the sheep, the childhood memories we keep,
God's your soft breath as you sleep, God is you and God is me.
Come take my hand, this is heaven whenever you smile at me,
stay with me, when I need a friend.

"I'll tell you about God child," the adult he sighed,
"Well God's that inarticulate something inside,
That fills my eyes with tears and prays for respite.
That weeps at my lost years; once I was a child."

God's my whispering your name, nostalgic pictures in their frames
God's no two snowflakes quite the same, God's three thousand lonely days.
God's ugly kids who sit alone, on crowded buses on their way home,
Who dream of being popular, whose hearts are delicate as flowers.

God's innocence, God is light, God is lonely, tear-filled nights.
God's how we feel when we're alone and God's a million miles from home.
God's your fingers wrapped in mine, and when you call me in the night,
Awake from dreams in which the brightest light has faded from our eyes.

God's the sunrise, God's the rain, God's the cold and fleeting pain
That stills the heart when once again we feel the love we know might end.
But God's a warmth in Arctic lands, and when you briefly touched my hand
Intimate and gentle, understand we were so close my friend.

God's your tears when you cry, dear child raise your head up,
God lives deep within you eyes, God's a metaphor for love.
Come take my hand, this is heaven whenever you smile at me
stay with me, when I need a friend.

Theology (with guitar solo later discarded)

A birthday gift for my father.

The Gift (An October Sonnet)

The things you gave to me surround and hold
The world, all life in place. The universe
Your gifts create, the joys, the thoughts unearthed,
The views revealed, the memories make me whole.
You painted light on distant headlands, showed
The smugglers where to land. You climbed – the turf,
The heather underfoot – and gave the world
To me, horizons, hills, the sea below.
You gave me music: the voice where words fail,
The hand that holds beyond the fingers' reach;
The love that hides in harmony and tune.
You gave me stars: the constellations' braille
Writ large across my skies. You walk there each
And every night. To me Orion's you.

Shadowlands