- 17
- Aeroplane
- Alive and Well and Living in
- A Passion Play
- A Stitch in Time
- Beltane
- Coronach
- Crossword
- Down at the End of Your Road
- Dr. Bogenbroom
- Driving Song
- Glory Row
- I'm Your Gun
- It All Trickles Down
- Jack-A-Lynn
- Jack Frost and the Hooded Crowd
- John Barleycorn
- Just Trying to Be
17
I remember when
we had a lot of things to do,
impressed by all the words we read
and the heroes that we knew.
Climb on your your dream,
a dream of our own making
to find a place that we could later lose
to whatever time would bring.
We were seventeen
and the cakeman was affecting you,
moving you to greater things
(in a lesser way) you had to prove.
The clock struck summertime.
You were going round in circles now.
Wishing you were seventeen.
At twenty-one, it was a long time gone.
And now here you are.
You're locked in your own excuse.
The circle's getting smaller every day.
You're busy planning your next fifty years.
So stay the way you are
and keep your head down to the same old ground.
Just paint your picture boy until you find
a closed circle's better than an open line.
Yes stay the way you are.
I got a circle that's the same as yours.
It may be bigger, but I've more to lose.
I remember when
we had a lot of things to do,
impressed by all the words we read
and the heroes that we knew.
Climb on your your dream,
a dream of our own making
to find a place that we could later lose
to whatever time would bring.
We were seventeen
and the cakeman was affecting you,
moving you to greater things
(in a lesser way) you had to prove.
The clock struck summertime.
You were going round in circles now.
Wishing you were seventeen.
At twenty-one, it was a long time gone.
And now here you are.
You're locked in your own excuse.
The circle's getting smaller every day.
You're busy planning your next fifty years.
So stay the way you are
and keep your head down to the same old ground.
Just paint your picture boy until you find
a closed circle's better than an open line.
Yes stay the way you are.
I got a circle that's the same as yours.
It may be bigger, but I've more to lose.
Who is the luckier man me or you?
AEROPLANE
Flying made of sticks and paper:
aeroplane.
Dying is the wind but climbing,
my aeroplane.
Blowing, and going somewhere high
in the evening tumbling down,
but it's surely been up there.
Crying want to live my life as
my aeroplane
Sighing in the sun's eye, but softly:
my aeroplane.
Lonely, but only till it comes down,
well there's people running round.
But it's surely been up there.
Flying my aeroplane.
my aeroplane
my aeroplane
AEROPLANE
Flying made of sticks and paper:
aeroplane.
Dying is the wind but climbing,
my aeroplane.
Blowing, and going somewhere high
in the evening tumbling down,
but it's surely been up there.
Crying want to live my life as
my aeroplane
Sighing in the sun's eye, but softly:
my aeroplane.
Lonely, but only till it comes down,
well there's people running round.
But it's surely been up there.
Flying my aeroplane.
my aeroplane
my aeroplane
my aeroplane
ALIVE AND WELL AND LIVING IN
Nobody sees her here, her eyes are slowly closing.
If she should want some peace she sits there, without moving,
and puts a pillow over the phone.
And if she feels like dancing, no one will know it.
Giving herself a chance there's no need to show her how it should be.
She can't remember now when she was all in pieces,
she’s quite content to sit there listening to what he says.
How he didn’t like to be alone.
And if he feels like crying she’s there to hear him,
ALIVE AND WELL AND LIVING IN
Nobody sees her here, her eyes are slowly closing.
If she should want some peace she sits there, without moving,
and puts a pillow over the phone.
And if she feels like dancing, no one will know it.
Giving herself a chance there's no need to show her how it should be.
She can't remember now when she was all in pieces,
she’s quite content to sit there listening to what he says.
How he didn’t like to be alone.
And if he feels like crying she’s there to hear him,
no reason to complain and nothing to fear, they always will be.
A PASSION PLAY
The Silver Cord
"Do you still see me even here?''
(The silver cord lies on the ground.)
"And so I'm dead'', the young man said
over the hill (not a wish away).
My friends (as one) all stand aligned
although their taxis came too late.
There was / a rush along the Fulham Road
There was / a hush in the Passion Play
Such a sense of glowing in the aftermath
ripe with rich attainments all imagined
sad misdeeds in disarray
the sore thumb screams aloud,
echoing out of the Passion Play.
All the old familiar choruses come crowding in a different key
Melodies decaying in sweet dissonance.
There was a rush along the Fulham Road
into the Ever-passion Play.
And who comes here to wish me well?
A sweetly-scented angel fell.
She laid her head upon my disbelief
and bathed me with her ever-smile.
And with a howl across the sand
I go escorted by a band of gentlemen in leather bound
NO-ONE (but someone to be found).
Memory Bank
All along the icy wastes there are faces smiling in the gloom.
Roll up roll down, Feeling unwound? Step into the viewing room.
The cameras were all around. We've got you taped you're in the play.
Here's your I.D. (Ideal for identifying one and all.)
Invest your life in the memory bank ours the interest and we thank you.
The ice-cream lady wets her drawers, to see you in the passion play.
Take the prize for instant pleasure, captain of the cricket team
public speaking in all weathers, a knighthood from a queen.
Best Friends
All your best friends' telephones never cooled from the heat of your hand.
There's a line in a front-page story, 13 horses that also-ran.
Climb in your old umbrella. Does it have a nasty tear in the dome?
But the rain only gets in sometimes and the sun never leaves you alone,
you alone, you alone, you alone, you alone, you alone.
Critique Oblique
Lover of the black and white it's your first night.
The Passion Play, goes all the way, spoils your insight.
Tell me how the baby's made, how the lady's laid,
Why the old dog howls in sadness.
And your little sister's immaculate virginity wings away on the bony shoulders
of a young horse named George who stole surreptitiously into her geography revision.
(The examining body examined her body.)
Actor of the low-high Q, let's hear your view.
Peek at the lines upon your sleeves since your memory won't do.
Tell me: how the baby's graded, how the lady's faded,
why the old dogs howl with madness.
All of this and some of that's the only way to skin the cat.
And now you've lost a skin or two, you're for us and we for you.
The dressing room is right behind, We've got you taped, you're in the play.
How does it feel to be in the play?
How does it feel to play the play?
How does it feel to be the play?
Man of passion rise again, we won't cross you out:
for we do love you like a son, of that there's no doubt.
Tell us: is it you who are here for our good cheer?
Or are we here for the glory, for the story, for the gory satisfaction
of telling you how absolutely awful you really are?
There was - a rush along the Fulham Road.
There was - a hush in the Passion Play.
THE END
The Foot Of Our Stairs
We sleep by the ever-bright hole in the door,
eat in the corner, talk to the floor,
cheating the spiders who come to say "Please'',
(politely). They bend at the knees.
Well, I'll go to the foot of our stairs.
Old gentlemen talk of when they were young
of ladies lost and erring sons.
Lace-covered dandies revel (with friends)
pure as the truth, tied at both ends.
Well I'll go to the foot of our stairs.
Scented cathedral spire pointed down.
We pray for souls in Kentish Town
A delicate hush the gods, floating by
wishing us well, pie in the sky.
God of ages, Lord of Time, mine is the right to be wrong.
Well I'll go to the foot of our stairs.
Jack rabbit mister spawn a new breed
of love-hungry pilgrims (no bodies to feed)
Show me a good man and I'll show you the door.
The last hymn is sung and the devil cries "More.''
Well, I'm all for leaving and that being done,
I've put in a request to take up my turn
in that forsaken paradise that calls itself "Hell''
where no-one has nothing and nothing is well meaning fool,
pick up thy bed and rise up from your gloom smiling.
Give me your hate and do as the loving heathen do.
Overseer Overture
Colours I've none, dark or light, red, white or blue.
Cold is my touch (freezing).
Summoned by name - I am the overseer over you.
Given this command to watch o'er our miserable sphere.
Fallen from grace, called on to bring sun or rain.
Occasional corn from my oversight grew.
Fell with mine angels from a far better place,
offering services for the saving of face.
Now you're here, you may as well admire
all whom living has retired from the benign reconciliation.
Legends were born surrounding mysterious lights
seen in the sky (flashing).
I just lit a fag then took my leave in the blink of an eye.
Passionate play join round the maypole in dance
(primitive rite) (wrongly).
Summoned by name I am the overseer over you.
Flight From Lucifer
Flee the icy Lucifer. Oh he's an awful fellow!
What a mistake! I didn't take a feather from his pillow.
Here’s the everlasting rub: neither am I good or bad.
I’d give up my halo for a horn and the horn for the hat I once had.
I'm only breathing. There's life on my ceiling.
The flies there are sleeping quietly.
Twist my right arm in the dark.
I would give two or three for
one of those days that never made
impressions on the old score.
I would gladly be a dog barking up the wrong tree.
Everyone's saved we're in the grave.
See you there for afternoon tea.
Time for awaking the tea lady's making
a brew-up and baking new bread.
Pick me up at half past none
there's not a moment to lose.
There is the train on which I came.
On the platform are my old shoes.
Station master rings his bell.
Whistles blow and flags wave.
A little of what you fancy does you good (or so it should).
I thank everybody
for making me welcome.
I’d stay but my wings have just dropped off.
Magus Perde
Hail! Son of kings make the ever-dying sign
cross your fingers in the sky for those about to BE.
There am I waiting along the sand.
Cast your sweet spell upon the land and sea.
Magus Perde, take your hand from off the chain.
Loose a wish to still, the rain, the storm about to be.
Here am I (voyager into life).
Tough are the soles that tread the knife’s edge.
Break the circle, stretch the line, call upon the devil.
Bring the gods, the golds’ own fire
In the conflict revel.
The passengers upon the ferry crossing, waiting to be born,
renew the pledge of life's long song rise to the reveille horn.
Animals queuing at the gate that stands upon the shore
breathe the ever-burning fire that guards the ever-door.
Man - son of man - buy the flame of ever-life
(yours to breathe and breath the pain of living): living be!
Here am I! Roll the stone away from the dark into ever-day.
Epilogue
There was a rush along the Fulham Road
A PASSION PLAY
The Silver Cord
"Do you still see me even here?''
(The silver cord lies on the ground.)
"And so I'm dead'', the young man said
over the hill (not a wish away).
My friends (as one) all stand aligned
although their taxis came too late.
There was / a rush along the Fulham Road
There was / a hush in the Passion Play
Such a sense of glowing in the aftermath
ripe with rich attainments all imagined
sad misdeeds in disarray
the sore thumb screams aloud,
echoing out of the Passion Play.
All the old familiar choruses come crowding in a different key
Melodies decaying in sweet dissonance.
There was a rush along the Fulham Road
into the Ever-passion Play.
And who comes here to wish me well?
A sweetly-scented angel fell.
She laid her head upon my disbelief
and bathed me with her ever-smile.
And with a howl across the sand
I go escorted by a band of gentlemen in leather bound
NO-ONE (but someone to be found).
Memory Bank
All along the icy wastes there are faces smiling in the gloom.
Roll up roll down, Feeling unwound? Step into the viewing room.
The cameras were all around. We've got you taped you're in the play.
Here's your I.D. (Ideal for identifying one and all.)
Invest your life in the memory bank ours the interest and we thank you.
The ice-cream lady wets her drawers, to see you in the passion play.
Take the prize for instant pleasure, captain of the cricket team
public speaking in all weathers, a knighthood from a queen.
Best Friends
All your best friends' telephones never cooled from the heat of your hand.
There's a line in a front-page story, 13 horses that also-ran.
Climb in your old umbrella. Does it have a nasty tear in the dome?
But the rain only gets in sometimes and the sun never leaves you alone,
you alone, you alone, you alone, you alone, you alone.
Critique Oblique
Lover of the black and white it's your first night.
The Passion Play, goes all the way, spoils your insight.
Tell me how the baby's made, how the lady's laid,
Why the old dog howls in sadness.
And your little sister's immaculate virginity wings away on the bony shoulders
of a young horse named George who stole surreptitiously into her geography revision.
(The examining body examined her body.)
Actor of the low-high Q, let's hear your view.
Peek at the lines upon your sleeves since your memory won't do.
Tell me: how the baby's graded, how the lady's faded,
why the old dogs howl with madness.
All of this and some of that's the only way to skin the cat.
And now you've lost a skin or two, you're for us and we for you.
The dressing room is right behind, We've got you taped, you're in the play.
How does it feel to be in the play?
How does it feel to play the play?
How does it feel to be the play?
Man of passion rise again, we won't cross you out:
for we do love you like a son, of that there's no doubt.
Tell us: is it you who are here for our good cheer?
Or are we here for the glory, for the story, for the gory satisfaction
of telling you how absolutely awful you really are?
There was - a rush along the Fulham Road.
There was - a hush in the Passion Play.
THE END
The Foot Of Our Stairs
We sleep by the ever-bright hole in the door,
eat in the corner, talk to the floor,
cheating the spiders who come to say "Please'',
(politely). They bend at the knees.
Well, I'll go to the foot of our stairs.
Old gentlemen talk of when they were young
of ladies lost and erring sons.
Lace-covered dandies revel (with friends)
pure as the truth, tied at both ends.
Well I'll go to the foot of our stairs.
Scented cathedral spire pointed down.
We pray for souls in Kentish Town
A delicate hush the gods, floating by
wishing us well, pie in the sky.
God of ages, Lord of Time, mine is the right to be wrong.
Well I'll go to the foot of our stairs.
Jack rabbit mister spawn a new breed
of love-hungry pilgrims (no bodies to feed)
Show me a good man and I'll show you the door.
The last hymn is sung and the devil cries "More.''
Well, I'm all for leaving and that being done,
I've put in a request to take up my turn
in that forsaken paradise that calls itself "Hell''
where no-one has nothing and nothing is well meaning fool,
pick up thy bed and rise up from your gloom smiling.
Give me your hate and do as the loving heathen do.
Overseer Overture
Colours I've none, dark or light, red, white or blue.
Cold is my touch (freezing).
Summoned by name - I am the overseer over you.
Given this command to watch o'er our miserable sphere.
Fallen from grace, called on to bring sun or rain.
Occasional corn from my oversight grew.
Fell with mine angels from a far better place,
offering services for the saving of face.
Now you're here, you may as well admire
all whom living has retired from the benign reconciliation.
Legends were born surrounding mysterious lights
seen in the sky (flashing).
I just lit a fag then took my leave in the blink of an eye.
Passionate play join round the maypole in dance
(primitive rite) (wrongly).
Summoned by name I am the overseer over you.
Flight From Lucifer
Flee the icy Lucifer. Oh he's an awful fellow!
What a mistake! I didn't take a feather from his pillow.
Here’s the everlasting rub: neither am I good or bad.
I’d give up my halo for a horn and the horn for the hat I once had.
I'm only breathing. There's life on my ceiling.
The flies there are sleeping quietly.
Twist my right arm in the dark.
I would give two or three for
one of those days that never made
impressions on the old score.
I would gladly be a dog barking up the wrong tree.
Everyone's saved we're in the grave.
See you there for afternoon tea.
Time for awaking the tea lady's making
a brew-up and baking new bread.
Pick me up at half past none
there's not a moment to lose.
There is the train on which I came.
On the platform are my old shoes.
Station master rings his bell.
Whistles blow and flags wave.
A little of what you fancy does you good (or so it should).
I thank everybody
for making me welcome.
I’d stay but my wings have just dropped off.
Magus Perde
Hail! Son of kings make the ever-dying sign
cross your fingers in the sky for those about to BE.
There am I waiting along the sand.
Cast your sweet spell upon the land and sea.
Magus Perde, take your hand from off the chain.
Loose a wish to still, the rain, the storm about to be.
Here am I (voyager into life).
Tough are the soles that tread the knife’s edge.
Break the circle, stretch the line, call upon the devil.
Bring the gods, the golds’ own fire
In the conflict revel.
The passengers upon the ferry crossing, waiting to be born,
renew the pledge of life's long song rise to the reveille horn.
Animals queuing at the gate that stands upon the shore
breathe the ever-burning fire that guards the ever-door.
Man - son of man - buy the flame of ever-life
(yours to breathe and breath the pain of living): living be!
Here am I! Roll the stone away from the dark into ever-day.
Epilogue
There was a rush along the Fulham Road
into the Ever-passion Play.
A STITCH IN TIME
I work in dark factories, a cog in the big wheel,
driving grey satanic mills and weaving sad stories.
And faceless masters oh, they pay me plenty
crumbs from their luncheon packs, harsh wine from bottles halk empty.
A stitch in time saves nine.
Said Cock Robin from the wall.
It's an early bird catches the worm.
Show a little pride before you fall.
So I flew to the south sun with birds of a feather
to drink in the warm nights and tell of fine weather.
A stitch in time saves nine.
Said Cock Robin from the wall.
It's an early bird catches the worm.
Show a little pride before you fall.
Listen all you young folk your lives on a timetable,
clocking on twenty-one fly while you're able.
A stitch in time saves nine.
Said Cock Robin from the wall.
It's an early bird catches the worm.
Show a little pride before you fall.
A stitch in time saves nine.
Said Cock Robin from the wall.
It's an early bird catches the worm.
A STITCH IN TIME
I work in dark factories, a cog in the big wheel,
driving grey satanic mills and weaving sad stories.
And faceless masters oh, they pay me plenty
crumbs from their luncheon packs, harsh wine from bottles halk empty.
A stitch in time saves nine.
Said Cock Robin from the wall.
It's an early bird catches the worm.
Show a little pride before you fall.
So I flew to the south sun with birds of a feather
to drink in the warm nights and tell of fine weather.
A stitch in time saves nine.
Said Cock Robin from the wall.
It's an early bird catches the worm.
Show a little pride before you fall.
Listen all you young folk your lives on a timetable,
clocking on twenty-one fly while you're able.
A stitch in time saves nine.
Said Cock Robin from the wall.
It's an early bird catches the worm.
Show a little pride before you fall.
A stitch in time saves nine.
Said Cock Robin from the wall.
It's an early bird catches the worm.
Show a little pride before you fall.
BELTANE
Have you ever stood in the April wood and called the new year in?
While the phantoms of three thousand years fly as the dead leaves spin?
There's a snap in the grass behind your feet and a tap upon your shoulder.
And the thin wind crawls along your neck it's just the old gods getting older.
And the kestral drops like a fall of shot and the red cloud hanging high
come a Beltane.
Have you ever loved a lover of the old elastic truth?
And doted on the daughter in the ministry of youth?
Thrust your head between the breasts of the fertile innocent.
And taken up the cause of love, for the sake of argument.
Or while the kisses drop like a fall of shot from soft lips in the rain.
come a Beltane.
Happy old new year to you and yours.
The sun's up for one more day, to be sure.
Play it out gladly, for your card's marked again.
Have you walked around your parks and towns so knife-edged orderly?
While the fires are burned on the hills upturned in far-off wild country.
And felt the chill on your window-sill as the green man comes around.
With his walking cane of sweet hazel brings it crashing down.
Sends your knuckles white as the thin stick bites. Well, it's just your groaning pains.
Come a Beltane. Come a Beltane.
Come a Beltane. Come a Beltane.
Come a Beltane. Come a Beltane.
Come a Beltane. Come a Beltane.
CORONACH
Grey the mist cold the dawn;
cruel the sea and stern the shore.
Brave the man who sets his course
For Albion.
Sweet the rose sharp the thorn;
meek the soil and proud the corn.
Blessed the lamb that would be born
within this green and pleasant land.
Hi-O-Ran-I-Ro
Hi-O-Ran-I-Ro.
Brown furrow shine
beneath the rain washed blue.
Bright crystal streams
from eagle mountains born.
Fortune has smiled on those who wake anew,
within this fortress nature built
to stay the hand of war.
With the wind from the east
came the first of those to tread
upon this stone, this stone of kings;
this realm, this new Jerusalem.
Hi-O-Ran-I-Ro
BELTANE
Have you ever stood in the April wood and called the new year in?
While the phantoms of three thousand years fly as the dead leaves spin?
There's a snap in the grass behind your feet and a tap upon your shoulder.
And the thin wind crawls along your neck it's just the old gods getting older.
And the kestral drops like a fall of shot and the red cloud hanging high
come a Beltane.
Have you ever loved a lover of the old elastic truth?
And doted on the daughter in the ministry of youth?
Thrust your head between the breasts of the fertile innocent.
And taken up the cause of love, for the sake of argument.
Or while the kisses drop like a fall of shot from soft lips in the rain.
come a Beltane.
Happy old new year to you and yours.
The sun's up for one more day, to be sure.
Play it out gladly, for your card's marked again.
Have you walked around your parks and towns so knife-edged orderly?
While the fires are burned on the hills upturned in far-off wild country.
And felt the chill on your window-sill as the green man comes around.
With his walking cane of sweet hazel brings it crashing down.
Sends your knuckles white as the thin stick bites. Well, it's just your groaning pains.
Come a Beltane. Come a Beltane.
Come a Beltane. Come a Beltane.
Come a Beltane. Come a Beltane.
Come a Beltane. Come a Beltane.
CORONACH
Grey the mist cold the dawn;
cruel the sea and stern the shore.
Brave the man who sets his course
For Albion.
Sweet the rose sharp the thorn;
meek the soil and proud the corn.
Blessed the lamb that would be born
within this green and pleasant land.
Hi-O-Ran-I-Ro
Hi-O-Ran-I-Ro.
Brown furrow shine
beneath the rain washed blue.
Bright crystal streams
from eagle mountains born.
Fortune has smiled on those who wake anew,
within this fortress nature built
to stay the hand of war.
With the wind from the east
came the first of those to tread
upon this stone, this stone of kings;
this realm, this new Jerusalem.
Hi-O-Ran-I-Ro
Hi-O-Ran-I-Ro
CROSSWORD
Walking on air, shoulder and head above you.
Down in the street, black canyons walking through.
Hooded sad eyes, fixed on your shuffle shoes.
Life is a clue in your crossword.
Typewriter turk. Telephone terror takes
time to wind down. Push-button finger shakes.
City of dreams. Back to your quiet nightmare.
Your life is a clue in the crossword.
Working to rule in your own time.
Drag yourself home to your star sign page.
Staying awake on cold yesterday's steak and warm beer.
Ladder of string climbing to sweet success.
Homework aside. Your brain on the train to test.
Pick up the news (you left on the seat beside you).
Your life is a clue in the crossword.
Your life is a clue in the crossword.
CROSSWORD
Walking on air, shoulder and head above you.
Down in the street, black canyons walking through.
Hooded sad eyes, fixed on your shuffle shoes.
Life is a clue in your crossword.
Typewriter turk. Telephone terror takes
time to wind down. Push-button finger shakes.
City of dreams. Back to your quiet nightmare.
Your life is a clue in the crossword.
Working to rule in your own time.
Drag yourself home to your star sign page.
Staying awake on cold yesterday's steak and warm beer.
Ladder of string climbing to sweet success.
Homework aside. Your brain on the train to test.
Pick up the news (you left on the seat beside you).
Your life is a clue in the crossword.
Your life is a clue in the crossword.
Your life is a clue in the crossword.
DOWN AT THE END OF YOUR ROAD
I am your neighbor. I seem most respectable
But underneath I’m an iniquitous toad.
So many dreadful mishaps have befallen you
down at the end of your road.
And I live down the end of your road.
I'm working on ways to remove you from paradise,
from your striped lawn and your new swimming pool.
I place broken bottles in your geraniums
sabotage your gardening tools.
And I live down the end of your road.
By day I am a real estate gentleman
I deal in fine properties cheap at the price
After dark, I plan my most devious practices
Which you might think are not very nice.
Designing a system to reverse your plumbing
welling up, as you sit on your private throne.
Will come up all kinds of vile and despicable nasties
you would rather not have in your home.
And I live down the end of your road.
Dispensed loathsome creatures in your drawing room,
Sent doggy poo-poos in your morning mail.
Rat's heads and lark's wings should set your tums turning
and your houses will soon be for sale.
And I live down the end of your road.
Yes, I live down the end of your road.
Well, I live down the end of your road.
I live down the end of your road.
I live down the end of your road.
DOWN AT THE END OF YOUR ROAD
I am your neighbor. I seem most respectable
But underneath I’m an iniquitous toad.
So many dreadful mishaps have befallen you
down at the end of your road.
And I live down the end of your road.
I'm working on ways to remove you from paradise,
from your striped lawn and your new swimming pool.
I place broken bottles in your geraniums
sabotage your gardening tools.
And I live down the end of your road.
By day I am a real estate gentleman
I deal in fine properties cheap at the price
After dark, I plan my most devious practices
Which you might think are not very nice.
Designing a system to reverse your plumbing
welling up, as you sit on your private throne.
Will come up all kinds of vile and despicable nasties
you would rather not have in your home.
And I live down the end of your road.
Dispensed loathsome creatures in your drawing room,
Sent doggy poo-poos in your morning mail.
Rat's heads and lark's wings should set your tums turning
and your houses will soon be for sale.
And I live down the end of your road.
Yes, I live down the end of your road.
Well, I live down the end of your road.
I live down the end of your road.
I live down the end of your road.
I live down the end of your road.
DR. BOGENBROOM
I have one foot in the graveyard
and the other on the bus
And the passengers do trample
each other in the rush.
And the chicken hearted lawman
is throwing up his fill
to see the kindly doctor
to pass the super pill.
Well, I'm going down to revisit Dr. Bogenbroom.
Well, I'm on my way, three cheers for Dr. Bogenbroom.
Well, I tried my best to love you all,
all you hypocrites and whores,
with your eyes upon each other
and the locks upon your doors.
Well, you drowned me in the fountain of life and I hated you
for living while I was dying,
we were all just passing through.
Well, I'm going down to revisit Dr. Bogenbroom.
DR. BOGENBROOM
I have one foot in the graveyard
and the other on the bus
And the passengers do trample
each other in the rush.
And the chicken hearted lawman
is throwing up his fill
to see the kindly doctor
to pass the super pill.
Well, I'm going down to revisit Dr. Bogenbroom.
Well, I'm on my way, three cheers for Dr. Bogenbroom.
Well, I tried my best to love you all,
all you hypocrites and whores,
with your eyes upon each other
and the locks upon your doors.
Well, you drowned me in the fountain of life and I hated you
for living while I was dying,
we were all just passing through.
Well, I'm going down to revisit Dr. Bogenbroom.
Well, I'm on my way, three cheers for Dr. Bogenbroom.
DRIVING SONG
Will they ever stop driving me?
Have they ever taken time to see
That I need some rest if I'm to do my best?
Can I please stop working so hard?
They just tell me gotta close it hard
Got to think of my health. Can I be myself?
Oh, tell me I'll be home some day,
Well I doubt it if I continue this way,
'cause this hard life I've led is making me dead.
GLORY ROW
Oh, we'll put your name up in lights, put you down on Glory Row.
Would you be the star of ages to light your own way at night?
Might be a former beauty queen with your high smile stuck on so tightly.
They come and they go down on Glory Row.
It's the same old story yes, it the same old show.
Well, hello all you gentlemen, I fear I'm a lot like you.
We're wearing the same school tie but a different pair of shoes.
How did you get to be who you are? Will your children share the blame?
Is it really worth the time it takes to carve your name on Glory Row?
Down on Glory Row. It's the same old story yes, it the same old show.
Rise up all you fine young ladies and take arms for the show.
Oh, we'll put your name up inlights, put you down on Glory Row.
Would you be the star of ages to light your own way at night?
Might be a former beauty queen with your high smile stuck on so tightly.
They come and they go down on Glory Row.
It's the same old story yes, it the same old show.
Well, hello all you gentlemen, I fear I'm a lot like you.
We're wearing the same school tie but a different pair of shoes.
How did you get to be who you are? Will your children share the blame?
Is it really worth the time it takes to carve your name on Glory Row?
DRIVING SONG
Will they ever stop driving me?
Have they ever taken time to see
That I need some rest if I'm to do my best?
Can I please stop working so hard?
They just tell me gotta close it hard
Got to think of my health. Can I be myself?
Oh, tell me I'll be home some day,
Well I doubt it if I continue this way,
'cause this hard life I've led is making me dead.
GLORY ROW
Oh, we'll put your name up in lights, put you down on Glory Row.
Would you be the star of ages to light your own way at night?
Might be a former beauty queen with your high smile stuck on so tightly.
They come and they go down on Glory Row.
It's the same old story yes, it the same old show.
Well, hello all you gentlemen, I fear I'm a lot like you.
We're wearing the same school tie but a different pair of shoes.
How did you get to be who you are? Will your children share the blame?
Is it really worth the time it takes to carve your name on Glory Row?
Down on Glory Row. It's the same old story yes, it the same old show.
Rise up all you fine young ladies and take arms for the show.
Oh, we'll put your name up inlights, put you down on Glory Row.
Would you be the star of ages to light your own way at night?
Might be a former beauty queen with your high smile stuck on so tightly.
They come and they go down on Glory Row.
It's the same old story yes, it the same old show.
Well, hello all you gentlemen, I fear I'm a lot like you.
We're wearing the same school tie but a different pair of shoes.
How did you get to be who you are? Will your children share the blame?
Is it really worth the time it takes to carve your name on Glory Row?
Down on Glory Row. It's the same old story yes, it the same old show.
I’M YOUR GUN
Blew my smoke on a sunny day,
when the first black powder came my way.
Hot lead ball from a muzzle cold
to win fair lady and take your gold.
I know it hardly seems the time (I am your gun)
to talk of blue steel so sublime. (I am your gun)
I can understand your point of view. (I am your gun)
To tell the truth I'd scare me too.
Match, wheel and flintlock, they all caught your eye.
Pearl-handled ladies' models, scaled down to size.
I am the peacemaker, so the theory goes.
But I don't choose the company I keep and it shows.
I am your gun.
Love me, I'm your gun.
Maxim and Browning, they helped me along.
Stoner, Kalashnikov thrilled to my song.
Now one of me exists, for each one of you,
So how can you blame me for the things that I do?
Now I take second place to the motor car(I am your gun)
in the score of killing kept thus far. (I am your gun)
And just remember, if you don't mind (I am your gun)
it's not the gun that kills but the man behind.
I am your gun.
I am your gun.
I am your gun.
I am your gun.
IT ALL TRICKLES DOWN
There's a dragon-tail swishing behind tonight.
Poison's rising. I'm up too tight.
I might not be responsible
for the things that I might do.
My tanks are full and my dogs are loose.
Bees in my bonnet. Stew in juice.
Sauté-simmer, shallow-fry
when it all trickles down to you.
It all trickles down.
Yes it all trickles down.
Well it all trickles down,
from me to you.
My day was rough, don't care about yours.
I put muddy feet on your polished floor.
A goose to cook, a job that I'm
well qualified to do.
And it all trickles down.
Yes it all trickles down.
Well it all trickles down
from me to you.
Would be the one, would be the tea on toast.
Would be the Son, would be the Holy Ghost.
If this is not believable
then you've just had one too few.
Would be the mad Jack to your Queen of Spades.
A little Mac in your burger trade.
One dead-cert consequence --
it all trickles down to you.
And it all trickles down.
Yes it all trickles down.
Well it all trickles down
from me to you.
There's a dragon-tail swishing behind tonight.
Poison's rising. I'm up too tight.
I might not be responsible
for the things that I might do.
My tanks are full and my dogs are loose.
Bees in my bonnet. Stew in juice.
Sauté-simmer, shallow-fry
when it all trickles down to you.
It all trickles down.
Yes it all trickles down.
Well it all trickles down,
from me to you.
JACK-A-LYNN
Cold aeroplanes, slow boats, warm trains
remind me of Jack-A-Lynn.
Lush hotels and pretty girls
won't cheer the misty mood I'm in.
Silly, sad, I've never had to write this before,
oh, Jack-A-Lynn.
Funny how long nights allow
thoughts of Jack-A-Lynn.
When phantoms tread around my bed
to offer restless dreams they bring.
And it's just the time and place to find
a sad song to play for Jack-A-Lynn.
Magpies that shriek, old boots that leak
call me to Jack-A-Lynn.
Coal-black cats in policeman's hats
nosing where the mice have been.
And the long miaow's beginning now
and I'm far, far from home and Jack-A-Lynn.
Jack, Jack-A-Lynn
Jack, Jack-A-Lynn
Jack, Jack-A-Lynn
I’M YOUR GUN
Blew my smoke on a sunny day,
when the first black powder came my way.
Hot lead ball from a muzzle cold
to win fair lady and take your gold.
I know it hardly seems the time (I am your gun)
to talk of blue steel so sublime. (I am your gun)
I can understand your point of view. (I am your gun)
To tell the truth I'd scare me too.
Match, wheel and flintlock, they all caught your eye.
Pearl-handled ladies' models, scaled down to size.
I am the peacemaker, so the theory goes.
But I don't choose the company I keep and it shows.
I am your gun.
Love me, I'm your gun.
Maxim and Browning, they helped me along.
Stoner, Kalashnikov thrilled to my song.
Now one of me exists, for each one of you,
So how can you blame me for the things that I do?
Now I take second place to the motor car(I am your gun)
in the score of killing kept thus far. (I am your gun)
And just remember, if you don't mind (I am your gun)
it's not the gun that kills but the man behind.
I am your gun.
I am your gun.
I am your gun.
I am your gun.
IT ALL TRICKLES DOWN
There's a dragon-tail swishing behind tonight.
Poison's rising. I'm up too tight.
I might not be responsible
for the things that I might do.
My tanks are full and my dogs are loose.
Bees in my bonnet. Stew in juice.
Sauté-simmer, shallow-fry
when it all trickles down to you.
It all trickles down.
Yes it all trickles down.
Well it all trickles down,
from me to you.
My day was rough, don't care about yours.
I put muddy feet on your polished floor.
A goose to cook, a job that I'm
well qualified to do.
And it all trickles down.
Yes it all trickles down.
Well it all trickles down
from me to you.
Would be the one, would be the tea on toast.
Would be the Son, would be the Holy Ghost.
If this is not believable
then you've just had one too few.
Would be the mad Jack to your Queen of Spades.
A little Mac in your burger trade.
One dead-cert consequence --
it all trickles down to you.
And it all trickles down.
Yes it all trickles down.
Well it all trickles down
from me to you.
There's a dragon-tail swishing behind tonight.
Poison's rising. I'm up too tight.
I might not be responsible
for the things that I might do.
My tanks are full and my dogs are loose.
Bees in my bonnet. Stew in juice.
Sauté-simmer, shallow-fry
when it all trickles down to you.
It all trickles down.
Yes it all trickles down.
Well it all trickles down,
from me to you.
JACK-A-LYNN
Cold aeroplanes, slow boats, warm trains
remind me of Jack-A-Lynn.
Lush hotels and pretty girls
won't cheer the misty mood I'm in.
Silly, sad, I've never had to write this before,
oh, Jack-A-Lynn.
Funny how long nights allow
thoughts of Jack-A-Lynn.
When phantoms tread around my bed
to offer restless dreams they bring.
And it's just the time and place to find
a sad song to play for Jack-A-Lynn.
Magpies that shriek, old boots that leak
call me to Jack-A-Lynn.
Coal-black cats in policeman's hats
nosing where the mice have been.
And the long miaow's beginning now
and I'm far, far from home and Jack-A-Lynn.
Jack, Jack-A-Lynn
Jack, Jack-A-Lynn
Jack, Jack-A-Lynn
Jack, Jack-A-Lynn
JACK FROST AND THE HOODED CROW
Through long December nights we talk in words of rain or snow,
while you, through chattering teeth, reply and curse us as you go.
Why not spare a through this day for those who have no flame
To warm their bones at Christmas time?
Say Jack Frost and the Hooded Crow.
Now as the last broad oak leaf falls, we beg: consider this:
There’s some who have no coin to save for turkey, wine or gifts..
No children's laughter round the fire, no family left to know.
So lend a warm and a helping hand:
say Jack Frost and the Hooded Crow.
As holly pricks and ivy clings, your fate is none too clear.
The Lord may find you wanting, let your good fortune disappear.
All homely comforts blown away and all that’s left to show is to share your joy at Christmas time
with Jack Frost and the Hooded Crow.
Through long December nights we talk in words of rain or snow,
while you, through chattering teeth, reply and curse us as you go.
Why not spare a thought this day for those who have no flame
to warm their bones at Christmas time?
JACK FROST AND THE HOODED CROW
Through long December nights we talk in words of rain or snow,
while you, through chattering teeth, reply and curse us as you go.
Why not spare a through this day for those who have no flame
To warm their bones at Christmas time?
Say Jack Frost and the Hooded Crow.
Now as the last broad oak leaf falls, we beg: consider this:
There’s some who have no coin to save for turkey, wine or gifts..
No children's laughter round the fire, no family left to know.
So lend a warm and a helping hand:
say Jack Frost and the Hooded Crow.
As holly pricks and ivy clings, your fate is none too clear.
The Lord may find you wanting, let your good fortune disappear.
All homely comforts blown away and all that’s left to show is to share your joy at Christmas time
with Jack Frost and the Hooded Crow.
Through long December nights we talk in words of rain or snow,
while you, through chattering teeth, reply and curse us as you go.
Why not spare a thought this day for those who have no flame
to warm their bones at Christmas time?
Say Jack Frost and the Hooded Crow.
JOHN BARLEYCORN
There were three men, came out of the west,
Their fortunes for to try
And these three men made a solemn vow:
John Barleycorn must die!
Well, they've ploughed, they've sown, the've harrowed him in.
Threw clouds upon his head.
Till these three men were satisfied.
John Barleycorn was dead.
They've let him lie for a long long time,
till the rains from heaven did fall.
And little sir John sprang up his head
And so amazed them all.
They let him fly till the midsummer's day,
Till he looked both pale and wan, oh,
Then little Sir John has grown a long long beard
And so became a man.
They have hired men with the scythes so sharp.
To cut him off at the knee,
They rolled and they tied him around the waist,
serving him most him barbarously.
They hired men with the sharp pitchforks
to prick him to the heart.
And the loader he has served him worse than that,
for he's bound him to the cart.
Well, they've wheeled him 'round and 'round the field,
till they came onto a barn.
And there they made their solemn oath,
concerning a Barleycorn.
They hired men with the crab tree sticks
to split him skin from bone, yeah,
but the miller he has served him worst and bad
for he ground him between two stones.
Well there's beer all in the barrel
and brandy in the glass,
but little old sir John with his nut-brown bowl
proved the strongest man at last.
John Barleycorn, throw him up, throw him up!
Now the huntsman, he can't hunt the fox,
nor loudly blow his horn
And the tinker he can't mend his pots
Without John Barleycorn,
John Barleycorn, John Barleycorn,
Barleycorn, Barleycorn
John Barleycorn, John Barleycorn.
JUST TRYING TO BE
There was a time that you were so young and walked in their way,
They made you feel they loved you all seeing they say.
You’re going wrong if their game you don’t play.
And that the song I sing will lead you astray.
Unfeeling, feel lonely rejection
Unknowing, know you’re going wrong.
And they can’t see that we’re just trying to be and not what we seem.
JOHN BARLEYCORN
There were three men, came out of the west,
Their fortunes for to try
And these three men made a solemn vow:
John Barleycorn must die!
Well, they've ploughed, they've sown, the've harrowed him in.
Threw clouds upon his head.
Till these three men were satisfied.
John Barleycorn was dead.
They've let him lie for a long long time,
till the rains from heaven did fall.
And little sir John sprang up his head
And so amazed them all.
They let him fly till the midsummer's day,
Till he looked both pale and wan, oh,
Then little Sir John has grown a long long beard
And so became a man.
They have hired men with the scythes so sharp.
To cut him off at the knee,
They rolled and they tied him around the waist,
serving him most him barbarously.
They hired men with the sharp pitchforks
to prick him to the heart.
And the loader he has served him worse than that,
for he's bound him to the cart.
Well, they've wheeled him 'round and 'round the field,
till they came onto a barn.
And there they made their solemn oath,
concerning a Barleycorn.
They hired men with the crab tree sticks
to split him skin from bone, yeah,
but the miller he has served him worst and bad
for he ground him between two stones.
Well there's beer all in the barrel
and brandy in the glass,
but little old sir John with his nut-brown bowl
proved the strongest man at last.
John Barleycorn, throw him up, throw him up!
Now the huntsman, he can't hunt the fox,
nor loudly blow his horn
And the tinker he can't mend his pots
Without John Barleycorn,
John Barleycorn, John Barleycorn,
Barleycorn, Barleycorn
John Barleycorn, John Barleycorn.
JUST TRYING TO BE
There was a time that you were so young and walked in their way,
They made you feel they loved you all seeing they say.
You’re going wrong if their game you don’t play.
And that the song I sing will lead you astray.
Unfeeling, feel lonely rejection
Unknowing, know you’re going wrong.
And they can’t see that we’re just trying to be and not what we seem.
And even now believe that it’s not real and only a dream
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