Flying High Warwick Allen Saturday, 30 August 1997
[Verse 1] The eagle it soars, with such might Above the clouds in noble flight And it does, from that lofty height To the ground below cast its sight
[Verse 2] On the creatures down low it stares With scorn and derision it sneers To itself and what ever hears And with bitter contempt declares:
[Verse 3] “Shame to all those birds low flying Sparrows, finches, all those choosing Low to stay, near the ground to sing And never actually trying
[Verse 4] “For if their wings they would bother To stretch that little bit wider Set their sights a little higher And try that little bit harder
[Chorus 1] “They too might know The glory and the majesty Of flying high
[Verse 5] “'Twas not without effort that I Managed to climb so very high My wings I did spread wide, and my Sights I did set high in the sky
[Chorus 2] “It's through my own efforts that I know The glory and the majesty Of flying high
[Verse 6] “As for those creatures who must stay On the earth forever as they Have no feathers, no wings, no way Of flying. Pity them, I say
[Verse 7] “But it's the ground fowl I can't stand He has wings, as I understand Feathers too, but he dwells on land Not in the sky, so high and grand
[Verse 8] “Why does he choose this way to live When the blue skies he could have if His wings he would flap, and then, with Some effort, the skies would be his
[Chorus 3] “And then he too might know The glory and the majesty Of flying high
[Verse 9] “But no, he makes a decision To live in humiliation And shame; an abomination To all the birds of creation
[Coda] “If only he tried Oh, how I loathe the ground fowl.”
Sonnet of the Stone Warwick Allen Friday, 22 August 1997
[Stanza 1] The weight of the stone, around my heart bound Is not enough to pull me under, but Just enough for the chains, my soul to cut And the load to keep my dreams on the ground. Sometimes I stand tall, my strength I have found, But often strength I've none, I'm in a rut, I long for a haven, a lonely hut Where, onto a page, my fears and doubts mound.
[Stanza 2] From this safe place, I cry my forlorn plea To my Lord, I ask Him to take the stone. He hears, but He is teaching me to wait. He wants to use me, now He's moulding me, Yet He still lets me know I'm not alone, And from my shoulders He will lift the weight.
Amazing Man of God Warwick Allen Friday, 1 August 1997
Lord, I want to serve You. How I wish I were able, And capable, and ready. I know they say that it doesn't matter, That You can use me anyway. I guess that my feeble mind Has trouble comprehending that fact. Please, Lord, Make me an “amazing man of God”.
[Verse 1] What have You done for me? Merely given me a life worth living, Shown me love to which none can compare, A hope of a future, amazing and exciting. You've given me this, for free.
[Chorus 1] Should I be grateful? Should I show it? Should I fervently praise You, And proclaim Your name to the ends of the earth?
[Verse 2] After all, You only sent Your Son To die in sheer agony, To be cut off from Your love, To be crushed by the weight of my sin, So that I might know You, and live.
[Chorus 2] You'd think I'd be grateful. You'd think I'd want to show it. You'd think I'd fervently praise You, And proclaim Your name to the ends of the earth.
[Verse 3] What act of gratitude would be worthy To give thanks for what You have done? Nothing, really, but I could make a start, Such as giving You all that I have and all that I am, And living Your will in all that I do.
[Chorus 3] Father, I am grateful, And I want to show it. I shall fervently praise You, And proclaim Your name to the ends of the earth.
[Verse 4] If giving You my life and living Your will Were the least that I could do, You'd think that I'd manage that. But no, I fail, I let You down. Sometimes I think I'm more of a hindrance than a help to Your kingdom.
[Chorus 4] Lord, I am grateful; Help me to show it. Teach me to fervently praise You, And proclaim Your name to the ends of the earth.
[Verse 5] Thank You, Father, for Your grace, And for Your infinitely patient love. Thank You that whenever I fall, You catch me and comfort me with Your tender presence, And You're always ready to forgive.
I see writing on the wall I want to taste the blood But I know it's not real Just my mind playing cruel games But these games themselves Cause the blood to be real I think, I don't know
The blood is not there I painted the picture myself With words I don't understand On a wall that doesn't exist And blood is on the wall I think, I don't know
My very thoughts give the wall substance And make the blood rich, warm, red: real But the words are still a riddle A riddle is a riddle Even if formed in my own mind Surely I can decipher it I think, I don't know
The wall keeps me safe Even if the writing scares me The wall shelters me From the cold wind of reality I guess I want the wall I built it I think, I don't know
Maybe I didn't write the words Or build the wall But I must have For the words confuse, the wall imprisons Nobody else would harm me Everything is imagined I think, I think…
Song arrangement (2025)
[Verse 1] I see writing on the wall; In blood, fateful words are spelled. But I know it's not real; Just my mind plays games so cruel. But these games, the games themselves, Cause the blood to be real.
[Pre-chorus] I think, I don't know
[Chorus] Inked with blood that's not real, I am the guilty artist. And still, blood is on the wall, A wall that does not exist.
[Verse 2] It's my mental graffiti; The words, surely, they are mine, But their meaning I can't grasp. It's my self-captivity; This picture is my confine, Heavy words that hold me fast.
[Pre-chorus] I think, I don't know
[Chorus] Inked with blood that's not real, I am the guilty artist. And still, blood is on the wall, A wall that does not exist.
[Verse 3] My thoughts give the wall substance, And make the blood rich, warm, red. The bleak words are a riddle, A personal labyrinth, Even if formed in my head. I can know it a little.
[Pre-chorus] I think, I don't know
[Chorus] Inked with blood that's not real, I am the guilty artist. And still, blood is on the wall, A wall that does not exist.
[Verse 4] And the wall forms my safehold, But still the writing scares me. Was this really my choice here? The wall shelters me from cold Harsh wind of reality. I built the wall, my cloister.
[Pre-chorus] I think, I don't know
[Chorus] Inked with blood that's not real, I am the guilty artist. And still, blood is on the wall, A wall that does not exist.
[Verse 5] Could it really be me who's Written those dread words that haunt On the wall that imprisons? The wall restrains, words confuse; Only I'd capture and taunt. Everything is imagined.
[Pre-chorus] I think, I don't know
[Chorus] Inked with blood that's not real, I am the guilty artist. And still, blood is on the wall, A wall that does not exist.
[Outro] I don't know, I don't know, oh I think, I think I think, I think I think…
“Unreal Riddle” presents an exploration of psychological confinement and the
paradoxical nature of self-constructed mental prisons. The song operates as a
metaphysical meditation on the relationship between perception, reality, and
personal agency, employing the central metaphor of blood-written words upon an
imaginary wall to examine themes of guilt, isolation, and epistemic uncertainty.
Central Metaphor and Symbolism
The dominant metaphor of the wall inscribed with blood serves multiple symbolic
functions throughout the piece. The wall represents psychological
barriers—both protective and imprisoning—that the speaker has constructed
within their own mind. The blood, repeatedly emphasised as “not real” yet
paradoxically present, embodies the complex relationship between imagined and
experienced trauma. This duality reflects the genuine psychological impact of
mental constructs, even when recognised as illusory.
The phrase “writing on the wall” invokes biblical connotations of divine
judgment and prophecy, yet here it becomes deeply personal and self-authored.
The speaker’s identification as the “guilty artist” transforms them from passive
recipient of judgment to active creator of their own psychological torment,
raising questions about culpability and self-determination.
Structure and Repetition
The song’s structure reinforces its thematic content through cyclical
repetition. The recurring pre-chorus “I think, I don’t know” encapsulates the
speaker’s epistemic crisis—the fundamental uncertainty about their own mental
processes and agency. This phrase becomes increasingly significant as it appears
throughout, suggesting a mind caught between rational analysis and emotional
confusion.
The repetitive nature of the chorus creates a sense of being trapped within a
loop, mirroring the psychological imprisonment described in the lyrics. The
escalating repetition in the outro (“I think, I think…”) suggests either
mounting anxiety or the mechanical nature of obsessive thought patterns.
Progression of Self-Understanding
The five verses trace a journey of gradual, though incomplete, self-awareness.
The progression moves from initial confusion (“their meaning I can’t grasp”)
through growing recognition of personal responsibility (“I built the wall, my
cloister”) to final questioning of agency (“Could it really be me who’s written
those dread words?”).
This arc reflects the complex process of psychological insight, where
understanding one’s role in creating mental suffering doesn’t necessarily lead
to liberation from it. The speaker’s growing awareness paradoxically increases
their uncertainty, suggesting that self-knowledge can be as imprisoning as
ignorance.
Language and Tone
The vocabulary choices create a gothic, almost medieval atmosphere through words
like “cloister,” “confine,” and “captivity.” This linguistic register elevates
the speaker’s internal struggle to the level of epic or religious drama, whilst
simultaneously suggesting monastic isolation and penitential suffering.
The juxtaposition of concrete imagery (“blood,” “wall,” “words”) with assertions
of unreality creates cognitive dissonance that mirrors the speaker’s
psychological state. This tension between the tangible and intangible reflects
broader philosophical questions about the nature of mental experience.
Themes of Agency and Responsibility
Central to the song is the paradox of self-authored suffering. The speaker
simultaneously claims authorship (“I am the guilty artist”) and questions their
agency (“Was this really my choice here?”). This reflects the complex
relationship between conscious will and psychological compulsion, particularly
relevant to understanding depression, anxiety, and other mental health
conditions where individuals may feel responsible for thoughts and feelings
beyond their direct control.
The wall’s dual nature—as both “safehold” and prison—illustrates how
psychological defences can become self-defeating. The protection from the “harsh
wind of reality” comes at the cost of genuine freedom, suggesting the difficult
balance between necessary psychological boundaries and self-imposed limitations.
Philosophical Implications
The song engages with fundamental questions about the nature of reality and
mental experience. The assertion that imagined constructs can have real effects
(“My thoughts give the wall substance”) touches on phenomenological philosophy
and the reality of subjective experience. The speaker’s situation exemplifies
how mental constructs, even when recognised as constructs, retain their power to
affect behaviour and emotion.
Conclusion
“Unreal Riddle” succeeds as both a psychological portrait and philosophical
meditation. Its strength lies in its refusal to offer simple resolutions to
complex mental states. The speaker’s journey towards self-understanding doesn’t
culminate in liberation but in deeper recognition of their paradoxical
situation. The song’s power derives from its honest depiction of how
self-awareness can coexist with continued psychological entrapment, making it a
particularly nuanced exploration of mental imprisonment and the elusive nature
of personal freedom.
The work ultimately suggests that understanding the mechanisms of our
psychological prisons may be a necessary first step towards freedom, even if
that understanding doesn’t immediately provide the key to escape. In this way,
the “riddle” of the title remains appropriately unsolved, reflecting the ongoing
nature of psychological struggle and self-discovery.
