Take me to the bridge

Take me to the bridge
The cusp of your desire
Take me to the meeting point
Between your life and hell fire
And all the sacred archetypes
Of a thousand walls of fire
Take me to the bridge
To watch the water quench your ire

Your flowers are keeping well
-Well they are dead
Preserved forever
In the land of your head
Yes well if you only knew how much
They mean to me
Ah throw those petals down
To the bowels of the sea

They walked on the promenade
Next to the Danube
The trams were rolling over
The dams rolled like thunder
And the Korean drums rolled on
A rumbling under
Margit Hid's arches
To the questions
No-one can answer

Throw down your flowers
Throw them down to me
Leave them on the watery grave
No need for sympathy
Life moves on like this river
Its the only constancy
Just let your petals fall
Into my sea

We followed their parade
Down the streets of liberty
Where many had overcome
The forces of Tyranny
But all those sorts were put into shade
By the circumstances of chance
That no-one could have foreseen
How the river boats would dance

There are no words that can put
The truth out there
There is only mystery
No answers to despair
And if you try to put a finger on
A certain melancholy key
It will move out from under you
Like the waves of the sea

Ah throw your petals down
For the souls that have drowned
Throw them in the water
That was their funeral ground
The ceremony is over and now
The only sound
Is the rumble of the trams
Playing thunder
The rumble of the drums beating thunder
The rumble of the river rolling under
The bridge
The bridge
That bridge

Why is it American English only on Blogs or The South Korean Tragedy at Margaret Bridge, Budapest

I was going to write a poem
About how sad it was to see
a parade of the South Koreans
(They might also be North, but I doubt it)
Along the banks of the Danube
Actually
If truth be told I was cycling
And their bloody parade upset my route
And I exclaimed
'This is a cycle lane!'
But then I realized this must be a serious matter
So I headed it off
Like some paparazzi photographer
So obsessed was I with what was about to unfold
I could not distinguish my self
From an irritable idiot
Who kept getting in the way
I had to keep cycling ahead
Of this very sombre parade
Full of men twizzling the bands attached to the back of their
Heads
And others were beating drums
They were dressed in
White
Or Blue
And had on some head bands too
That looked blue
The point is I
Harassed their every move
So I hope you feel thankful to me
For my rubbish poetry
About this
Most significant event
That the hop-on-hop-off
Tourists couldn't give a shit about
As they crossed the Margit Bridge
The place where about 29 South Koreans died
When a much larger
Viking cruiser ploughed right
Over their little tourist boat
They were at the right place at the wrong time
You might say
And now they are dead
And all the petals that they throw
Into the Danube won't make a blind bit of difference to the fact that they
Are gone, and won't come back
And I am listening to the bloody Vivaldi variations as I wait
For someone in the British Government to answer my call about
Getting my tax back that I have overpaid
Because that is
All that matters anyway to the average Joe
But I KNOW
NO-ONE
Will ever answer because that is the way things go
When you are a British Citizen who has
Lost their Government Password
For the Government Gateway
Someone
Will always beat a drum
After you are dead and gone
In your memory