I opened a book to read a story one recent Sunday night. My book was written by a man who died in the year 1907… but I had seen him on stage the previous night which lead me to a very nice discovery. It has come to me that people though they disappear never really die at all. Now bare with me, you see I’ve been reading words by people many years flown away, yet here they lie under a lamp on my bedside table  and their words come to life in my brain.

There’s people in the ground with heartbeats in a book, in a letter that they wrote and in gestures or expressions they passed on to those around them, a tip of the hat the way they might have been inclined to do and we can document them so the legend lives on and on. Well, I call them Kings and I call them Queens, just because I can, and people still on this side carry their crown with a huge amount of pride but they’d never dare put it on.

My tired Monday eyes rose to take in newly born blue skies from behind kettle steam when it came to me that those people in the ground had living left to do, and here I am complaining after sunset on days when nothing in the world seems to change. But you’ve got to give a story time and days aren’t long at all, so I guess I’m breathing so I’m lucky and I have living left to do so I just get moving. When you’re only young I know life seems very, very scary so if you find you can’t put a foot right, maybe you were never wrong to begin with so jump head first in to big waves just to test your limits.

I’ve lost Kings and Queens and I’ve learnt about many more but one King I lost he’d say in anxious times that “everything will be alright,” and he’d calm you in the end for everything always was alright. And I thought he spoke blindly that words were easy money but he was right and all that was concerning would pass…. everything is fine now and I’ll yell it to the world from the Black Fort and Dún Aengus when the June sun comes to call again.

The cold mornings just got colder, sometimes I get scared you see some days I feel them walking with me and on other days I don’t; even as I know that they’ve gone nowhere, they’re just checking around the corner before I reach it. You can’t pay the Taxman or rentman with the memories you recall for he’d forever be in your debt. When the morning coffee’s heating, and I nod to the yawning clouds I’ll believe There’s hope for every breaking day because…
Real Kings Never Die.