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Stunningly rich and beautiful soft jazz/new age music is the backdrop for this disturbing and eloquent report on the atrocities of which man is not only capable of, but is guilty of and continues to be guilty of ... even in this enlightened age of scientific marvels.
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Lyrics for Tracks 1 to 7.



Before the action. An overture. A series of apparently disconnected images are anticipated from the narrative that follows ………

Words taken from the poetry below, by Douglas Houston (D.H.) and Geoffery Godbert (G.H.G.) .


A young girl dreams her dreams. The MAN sings of these dreams and all the innocent hopes and joys  of this particular child and of all children.

He is talking of her, he understands her, he knows her……….He watches over her.


Whoever counts each blade of grass

can fold a tree within a book

or smell the colours of the flowers.

In childhood, dreaming is allowed,

the skies are picture postcard blue

and X marks where the fairies hide.

It is allowed, like butterflies

or men who stare into a fire,

staying up throughout the night

to catch the secret words that rhyme.

The magic path of morning waits

for dark to bring it home again,

the leaves of dreams are in your hair

of what has happened in between,

inventing places just to be,

to lie as still as larks on air

or silent as a summer-house.

In childhood, this is possible,

When rain descends the sunshine’s beams

To make a rainbow for our dreams.

HORIZONS (extract) (G.H.G.)

You said your head spun round and round.

When your eyes opened you were here.

All I can see are horizons.




Today the blue of my pen writes your eyes into the sky of these words.


The scene is a home, perhaps a garden. Time is projected forward to when the girl is a wife. Imprisoned by love and her marriage. The dreams are still there, but she is impotent, fearful land nervous. Though the marriage is failing, she is trapped by her dependence on her husband, who has given her her definitions of herself. She loves too much: “love, too much love, is too bright”. The Man, always in mysterious attendance, accompanies her in her dreams and her unhappiness.  

FAMILY ALBUM (extract) (G.H.G.)

Pictures of I: will be silence shouting.

I shall only see when these eyes are closed.

Love, too much love, is too bright.

This picture shows it hidden behind these lids.

This picture shows what it is blinding.

This picture shows love become too perfect.

Pictures of I: dissolving perfectly,

One into the other of family likeness,

Robbing one life-force for another.


I was out all night in an untended garden

Saw the moon a few times where the high clouds frayed

And I thought perhaps my heart might harden

But the darkness went and the morning stayed

The same as before, though he was gone,

Same as I’d felt for years;

I’d thought for a while that the phantoms were him

Now I know they’re my own sweet fears

Now I know they’re my own sweet fears.

I grew used to the bedroom just for one,

Saw the house through the space that he’d cleared,

Learned that the emptiness hadn’t begun

When the cracks in my marriage appeared;

Nothing felt just the same as before,

Same as I’d felt for years;

I’d thought for a while that the phantoms were him,

Now I know they’re my own sweet fears,

Now I know they’re my own sweet fears.

In summer I dreamed of an indoor tree

Growing up from the floorboards’ grain;

Then I knew that its blossoms and fruit would be me

When it burst through the roof after rain,

Growing just the same as before

Like I hadn’t felt for years;

I’d thought for a while that he was my soil,

Now I know it’s my own sweet dreams

Now I know it’s my own sweet dreams.


The Man, continues his commentary on the state of her marriage. He, the voice from her childhood, tells her about the dying of her husband’s love. The chill of betrayal pervades this tableau. She is no longer her husband’s true love. He loves another. In the middle section, the husband taunts the wife with his mistress. A cruel dance, where he continually  pushes the wife away.


A word of warning: don’t

Look into his eyes, for

you may see the beginning

of the end disappearing

in pools of clear water

surrounded by cold, white stones.

A word of warning: don’t

reach out for his hand,

you may put your fingers

emptily into space

left behind like silence

following a breath of wind.

A word of warning: don’t

Allow your heart to beat

Too hopefully, otherwise

The sound may waken

Fearful rhythms of his life

Leading a dance of death.

A word of warning: don’t

offer him your love

when the tears of love

begin to fall around you

and absences gently

increase in the falling rain.

A word of warning: don’t

Walk with him quietly

like a lover, for he

may extract something

from the nothing of

the empty countryside.

A word of warning: don’t

interrupt his sleep

and the silence of his face,

for the brightness in waking

may contain the darkness

of the unfinished dream.

A word of warning: don’t

sway his body in a dance,

for you are not the music

causing his movement,

you are not the plucked string

willing the dancer.

A word of warning: don’t

take up his song, while

his happiness remains

in singing, his song

may already be filled

with the sound of words.

A word of warning: you

are an image, perhaps a bowl

of flowers,  a bird in flight

something of beauty frozen

like ice about to melt, something

precious about to be lost.

A word of warning: don’t

challenge his abstractions,

they are as feeling as

the tremor that is stilled

by realisation

when you at last embrace.

A word of warning: love

should not be simpler,

there is no motivation

beyond desire for

heart-break, for starting

what must only stop.


The husband has left her. She is alone with the children. She brings them up, they leave home. She is now quite desolate and her life is over. She takes an overdose.


I went on living for the children

Till the children went away,

And I took a job as a shadow

On a cellar floor that day.

I’d heard about the prospects

Promotion came in pills

A career in depression

Gave me a niche to fill.

I persevered with speaking

Till words were worn out shoes

That trudged towards some meaning

Through an unrhymed endless blues

Arithmetic of hoping always totalled nil

A career in depression

Gave me a niche to fill

When marriage went it slammed the door

But I still knew who I was

Defined in clothes and pots and pans

The kids were my because………

But the darkness started thickening

And I wasted away until

A career in depression

Gave me a niche to fill.


Post suicide, the Man, her protector, comes to her and gently, tenderly brings her back to life. “Called by a name, the river wakens”. He calls her “Blue Queen”. She comes to life as Blue Queen. The Man has given her dreams life. Her childhood hopes have come true. Her husband is “only a memory……..”

ONE LAST TIME (extract) (G.G.)

Called by a name, the river wakens

to progress from its bed of mud.

The trunks of trees rustle from their roots

on the dry land of morning.

Far-away lovers come out

of sleep, poets searching for the sky.

The butterfly waits like a dream.

Is it your hand reaching out

to cup the butterfly’s silence?

The river inside you has stopped.

Blow your lips upon its wings;

though it’s late, their colours may return.

Dance with them in the dawn of the day,

open the sky with your arms.


He’s only a memory

Can’t come between

Me and my secrets—

Call me “Blue Queen”.

Chaste lapis lazuli, magenta desire,

Rainbows of moods from the ice to the fire;

Appearances alter

From scene to scene,

I’ll keep you guessing---

Call me “Blue Queen”.

It’s my vibration,

The wavelength I chose,

Subaqueaus currents,

Stratosphere Blues

Invisible robe

Of all that I have been

Suits every season—

Call me “Blue Queen”.


The Man and Blue Queen dance a Pas de Deux. They are bound in an idyllic embrace. She is safe. He has her now………………………two hearts beat as one………….all is well……………


Dear friend, don’t worry; I’ll know you.

It has been more than a lifetime

since we walked away with the wind.

How could you expect to live longer?

The leaves each summer fall to the ground.

Our changes happen in that way;

I know winter; I shall know you now.

An older wind will be blowing.
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