Theatre for the Broken

A stone floor was my warmest lying place when you all lay near
Curled up for hours beside the gas fire when all the ways to me seemed spiked and sheer
Now we were not used to being pursued - much less to being caught so gently
Welcome in, all ye clumsy people, all you whose tongues are tied with cords of scorn
This is your theatre for the broken where the doors are always open
You smoke to stay thin and make love to paper porn
Then when your days grow green and leafy and your limbs at last agree
They take you back to the garden where you came from
And help you remember how to be a groovy swinger on a deep down rooted broom tree
Spheres of fire are spinning into Dame Street and the ice is cracking thin
All all the ships that went to Canada are one by one being blown back in
Now my brash hope has dwindled into certainty and I no longer care to question why
But I miss the cramping hunger that drove me to the boards
I miss the do or die
I was never born to be satisfied
Welcome home all ye clumsy people, all you who never were afraid to fall
This is your theatre for the broken where the doors are always open
You dare to talk about Macbeth before the curtain call
Now my days drew green and leafy and my limbs hang loose and free
It's time to go back to the garden where I came from
And time to remember how to be a groovy swinger on a deep down rooted broom tree
Days drew green and leafy and my limbs hang loose and free
Oh, It's time to go back to the garden where I came from
And time to remember how to be a groovy swinger on a deep down rooted broom tree
A groovy swinger on a deep down rooted, storm resistant broom tree