The Realm of the Beggar King
When there are no keys in your pocket
and no cares on your mind
When you don’t know the day
and you don’t know the time
When the sun’s your only compass
and the moon’s your only lover
When the stars are your ceiling
or a yew tree is your cover
When you envy no creature
except the bird on the wing
Then you know you’re at the helm
of that liminal realm:
The realm of the beggar
king
When your sweat smells of vinegar
and your underwear smells of cheese
When there are outbreaks of mutiny
among the regiments of your knees
When that blister on your sole
begins to slip and to slide
When you’ve been standing three hours or more
but still ain’t got a ride
When your belly begins to growl
and your boots begin to ming
Then you know you’re at the helm
of that liminal realm:
The realm of the beggar
king
When you’re in a foreign land
yet feel totally at home
When the sunlight on the mountainside
thrills you to the bone
When that complete stranger at the wheel
feels as easy as a friend
When you’ve pitched your tent on a western shore
and don’t want the day to end
When the dawn chorus wakes you up
and makes you want to sing
Then you know you’re at the helm
of that liminal realm:
The realm of the beggar
king
When some boy racer’s just given you the finger
or some snotty brats have given you the thumb
When you’re tempted to hurl curses back
When your faith in life’s gone numb
When you daydream of past glories
and fear you’ve lost the knack
When you wonder why you keep on doing this shit
but there ain’t no turning back
When all the spiritual tomes you’ve ever read
no longer mean a thing
Then you know you’re at the helm
of that liminal realm:
The realm of the beggar
king
When you’re in the middle of nowhere
yet in the scheme of things
When the hobo angels by your side
are pulling all the strings
When you’ve remembered the rules of thumb
and life is but a game
When that vehicle on the horizon
is calling out your name
When that old red Porsche has just pulled over
or that family of four has squeezed you in
Then you know you’re at the helm
of that liminal realm:
The realm of the beggar
king
When there are no keys in your pocket
and no cares on your mind
When you don’t know the day
and you don’t know the time
When the sun’s your only compass
and the moon’s your only lover
When the stars are your ceiling
or a yew tree is your cover
When you envy no creature
except the bird on the wing
Then you know you’re at the helm
of that liminal realm:
The realm of the beggar
king
When your sweat smells of vinegar
and your underwear smells of cheese
When there are outbreaks of mutiny
among the regiments of your knees
When that blister on your sole
begins to slip and to slide
When you’ve been standing three hours or more
but still ain’t got a ride
When your belly begins to growl
and your boots begin to ming
Then you know you’re at the helm
of that liminal realm:
The realm of the beggar
king
When you’re in a foreign land
yet feel totally at home
When the sunlight on the mountainside
thrills you to the bone
When that complete stranger at the wheel
feels as easy as a friend
When you’ve pitched your tent on a western shore
and don’t want the day to end
When the dawn chorus wakes you up
and makes you want to sing
Then you know you’re at the helm
of that liminal realm:
The realm of the beggar
king
When some boy racer’s just given you the finger
or some snotty brats have given you the thumb
When you’re tempted to hurl curses back
When your faith in life’s gone numb
When you daydream of past glories
and fear you’ve lost the knack
When you wonder why you keep on doing this shit
but there ain’t no turning back
When all the spiritual tomes you’ve ever read
no longer mean a thing
Then you know you’re at the helm
of that liminal realm:
The realm of the beggar
king
When you’re in the middle of nowhere
yet in the scheme of things
When the hobo angels by your side
are pulling all the strings
When you’ve remembered the rules of thumb
and life is but a game
When that vehicle on the horizon
is calling out your name
When that old red Porsche has just pulled over
or that family of four has squeezed you in
Then you know you’re at the helm
of that liminal realm:
The realm of the beggar
king
