Usher.

Wonder what you'll make of this ?

Don't want to make it too obvious, but also don't want to make it so obscure there's no meaning.

Usher.

I met him in Belfast.
The third week in May
He nodded and stalked off.
He'd nothing to say.

   He would usher them over,
   And they could never come back,
   Never come back, never come back.

The next time, he wondered
Why I was still there?
This kind of liaison
Was rarer than rare.

So we sat down and talked
Over coffee and dates
And struck up a friendship
On pipe dreams and fate.

For he'd known them all
The great and the good
Attila and Hitler
Ghandi and Hood.

And some would get maudlin,
Some would sigh with relief
When he'd steal away pain
Like some gentleman thief.

And one thing I learnt
As I let him talk on
Was the fact that without us
They'd get nothing done.

But it came time to call time
I put my hand on his arm
I saw the start in his eyes
And the ending in alarm.

He pulled himself together
It took all that he'd learnt
To let go the memories
So the book could be burnt

Message or messenger,
Killer or kill
There's none that will outrun
The stillness so still.