Theatre for the Broken
Theatre For The Broken - Juliet Turner
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
And 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
That 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
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
A groovy swinger on a deep down rooted
Storm resistant broom tree