This is the Mardibra in artistic concept mode, he doesn't pretend it worked and he's bloody well not going to try it again. But what is God if he does not learn from his mistakes and vow to walk away from the ruins he creates without a tear, what is a God indeed...
Anyway, this is a linked series of poems, for want of a better word, telling part of the life of part of a man...
Congratulations if your patience lets you reach the end...
We didnt
Jack Warner
His mother's son
Born 12 December 1817
Cradled in the arms
*
In the tiniest towns of southern kent
Where the garden of England is almost spent
In peaceful villages deep in the sun
A wanted man is on the run
The Crimes they leave a trail behind
Victims languish, he doesn't mind
In innocent towns, asleep in the sun
A wanted man is on the run
A leagend from parts o far away
The turncoat though, will have his say
In victims towns, awake in the sun
The police hunt, the man on the run
*
I steal from mice
to give to the rats
I take their coats
I steal their hats
And all around
From church to sauna
Lock up your mice
Here comes Jack Warner
*
Another beer is what i want
came the shout from in the corner
And for the first and not the last
My eyes did rest on Jack Warner.
Of course everyone in this 'ere town
knows the name and knows to steer
Clear of him and all his kind.
He rules the law and bathes in fear
But little did i think back then
Another notch for old Jack i'd be,
I was quite the victim type.
But that was what drunk Jack could see
So i stand here now to tell my tale
I hope that all will listen
To have Jack Warner hunt his pray
And how his knife did glisten
Hear me know before my God
I stand and give the truth
Of how Jack did come to steal
from innocent and pretty Ruth.
I was what what drunk Jack could see
*
I am a hunter
I am the hunted
I am the legend
I am the wanted
I am the liar
I am the sinner
I am your wildest dreams
I'm your inner winner
I am the brave
I am the poor
I am the crowd
I am the roar
I am the thief
I am the crook
I'm the bloodlust sun
Your son forsook
I am the demon
I am the night
I am the dawn
I am the light
I am the smell of death
I am the will to survive
I am the voice of fear
AND I AM ALIVE
*
He's been spotted, he's been seen
He's living on his last runner bean
On the run, nowhere to go
No more friends, only foe
They despise him now
Where once they worshipped
They've seen him run, his coat still fur tipped
He's been spotted, he's been seen
He's living on, his last runner bean
Through orchard green and fields of yellow
He's running from the hangman's peril
He sleeps for just a few hours then
He's on the road, fleeing again
He's been spotted, he's been seen
He's living on, his last runner bean
Cornered at last in a tiny village
There's no way out, none left to pillage
All around him the sirens sing
And bells of doom doth toll and ring
He's been spotted, he's been seen
Could he have eaten, his last runner bean?
*
The end when it came
was not pretty
As these things seldom are
He found to the last
he gave his all
But defeat was never far
In the end they got him
half up an oak
Clutching stil his fur lined coat
And off he to London town
cuffed to a man
Aboard a policeman's boat
An inglorious end
to Jack Warner
The foe of all good mice
And yet for some
oh evil rats
He 'twas so very nice
*
Jack Warner
Master Criminal
Mouse Specialist
Died 8th June 1848
Hanged
In a Noose.