Hunyadi in Budapest

On the streets of Budapest
Where the old clouds roll
Where the crowds in their dust storm bowl
Like so many refugees

Old street where Hunyadi strolled
With his cargo of cannons
And his wagons which roll

What does he think now
The peace loving town
This proud metropolis
Full of shirtless sacred cows

Row, row, row your boat
Gently down the Danube
What thinks Hunyadi
Of the river banks metro tube

The slow train to Eden
The fast train back home
The mark of cain
On the brain of all men
Left alone

Hunyadi walks in some mythic dream
Where the archetypes come out of doors
They slap him on the back
His philosopher kings
Who bring their naked love lorn wisdom
Like a sack of precious things

They salt his tea with their virtues
In the fresh cafe bars
Which smell of coffee from Turkey
And remind him of Turkish wars

They send him up to the stocks
Tell him this is where the criminals hang
They say newspapers are our flogging grounds
And the government gongs they bang

They sidle up to him like snakes
In the city parks
And offer him apples of hidden knowledge
From the world that goes on after dark

They sit sadly like fishermen
Trying to catch the glimmers of their youth
As the river of time flows on down their banks
And the fish slip through their fingers like truth

They find him nets to catch their lies
Like they were spider webs
And the homeless life of Hunyadi soon dies
Or ebbs
On the grounds of the palace of proof

His clouds are rolling softly like thunder
With the promise of powder kegs
They leave their trail of black granules under
The snow like black spider eggs

They lead the way to parliament
Where the king sits on his throne
And Hunyadi looks then drops his lighted match to the pavement
Then watches as to smithereens its blown