OXFORD EASTERTIME ( © Words and Music by Paul F. Cowlan)

This is a real vintage number. Her name was Annie.


Well it didn’t take long
for you to get the message through that I was wasting time.
Never far apart, but still that feeling of despair
that wouldn’t go away.

And you never can say
I didn’t give you half a chance to say what was on your mind.
First you had your say, then I had mine;
though I hardly said a word.

And you never heard
all the things I meant to say to you when we were on our own.
I couldn’t find the words but you said,
“Never mind. I think I understand.”

But it wouldn’t take long.

Goodbye, you were my sole confessor and I trusted you.
In confidence I told you every word.
But now the sun has left the windows everywhere is dark,
and I begin to fear that we were overheard.

The prisoner cries out from his dungeon.
Glass retort with fire on every side.
Move the burner just to see him suffer.
Set the fire of fortune on his pride.

Let him change his name if he can decide whose fool to be.

And that museum where I left my words
among the Chinese idols that we saw.
The distances between us burned in sunlight on the floor
and undeciphered patterns on the wall,

where the ancient empires had to fall.