This Is For History
He rustled up his skin and bone
and idly heard the plane:
a distant, even quiet drone,
indefinite, mundane.
He threw his shadow at the stone
and left behind a stain.
Historians with flaking eyes
and cancer of the brain
can cut the monument to size
or tranquilise the pain.
He threw his shadow at the skies
and left behind a stain.
So mind your language, understand
this song has no refrain -
like celluloid inside a can,
it curls and curls again.
He threw his shadow like a man
and left behind a stain.