Disc 1 | ||||||
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1. |
| 3:57 | ||||
In the morning -- gonna get my things together.
Packing up and I'm leaving this place. I don't believe you'll cry, there'll be a smile upon your face. I didn't think how much you'd hurt me. That's something that I laugh about. Bring in the good times, baby. And let the bad times out. That old sun keeps on shining, But someday it won't shine for you. In the morning I'll be leaving. I'll leave your mother too. |
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2. |
| 5:09 | ||||
Happy, and I'm smiling, walk a mile to drink your water.
You know I'd love to love you, and above you there's no other We'll go walking out while others shout of war's disaster. Oh, we won't give in, let's go living in the past. Once I'd used to join in every boy and girl was my friend. Now there's revolution but they don't know what they're fighting. Let us close our eyes. Outside their lives go on much faster Oh, we won't give in, we'll keep living in the past. Oh, we won't give in, let's go living in the past. Oh, no, no, we won't give in, let's go living in the past. |
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3. |
| 3:38 | ||||
4. |
| 7:05 | ||||
Keep it quiet. (Go slow.)
Circulate. Need to know. Stamp the date upon your file --- masquerade, but well worth while. Wrapped in the warmth of you --- wrapped up in your smile. Wrapped in the folds of your attention. Wear an air --- (keep mum) of casual indifference. Careful how you go about your usual business. Wrapped in daydreams of you --- wrapped up by your eyes. Wrapped in the folds of your attention. Under wraps! I've got you under wraps. Tell you when --- (not yet) soon the great unveiling. Bless my boots! Upon my soul! Secrecy, it is my failing. Wrapped in your Summer night --- wrapped in your Autumn leaves. Wrapped in the Winter of your sleeping. |
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5. |
| 2:28 | ||||
There's a black cat down on the quayside.
Ship's lights, green eyes glowing in the dark. Two young cops handing out a beating: know how to hurt and leave no mark. Down in the half-lit bar of the hotel there's a call for the last round of the day. Push back the stool, take that elevator ride. Fall in bed and kick my shoes away. Rocks on the road. Can't sleep through the wild sound of the city. Hear a car full of young boys heading for a fight. Long distance telephone keeps ringing out engaged: wonder who you're talking with tonight. Who you talking with tonight? Rocks on the road. Tired plumbing wakes me in the morning. Shower runs hot, runs cold playing with me. Well, I'm up for the down side, life's a bitch and all that stuff: so come and shake some apples from my tree. Have to pay for my minibar madness. Itemised phone bill overload. Well now, how about some heavy rolling? Move these rocks on the road. Crumbs on the breakfast table. And a million other little things to spoil my day. Now how about a little light music to chase it all away? To chase it all away. There's a black cat down on the quayside. Ship's lights, green eyes glowing in the dark. Two young cops handing out a beating: know how to hurt and leave no mark. Down in the half-lit bar of the hotel there's a call for the last round of the day. Push back the stool, take that elevator ride. Fall in bed and kick my shoes away. Kick my shoes away, kick my shoes away. Rocks on the road. |
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6. |
| 2:28 | ||||
Tip-toes in silence 'round my bed
And quiets the raindrops overhead With her everlasting smile She stills my fever for a while Oh, nursie, dear I'm glad you're here To brush away my pain |
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7. |
| 4:45 | ||||
8. |
| 3:14 | ||||
There's a haze on the skyline, to wish me on my way.
And there's a note on the telephone some roses on a tray. And the motorway's stretching right out to us all, as I pull on my old wings one white duck on your wall. Isn't it just too damn real? One white duck on your wall. One duck on your wall. I'll catch a ride on your violin strung upon your bow. And I'll float on your melody sing your chorus soft and low. There's a picture-view postcard to say that I called. You can see from the fireplace, one white duck on your wall. Isn't it just too damn real? One white duck on your wall. One duck on your wall. One duck on your wall. So fly away Peter and fly away Paul from the finger-tip ledge of contentment. Well, the long restless rustle of high-heeled boots calls. And I'm probably bound to deceive you after all. Something must be wrong with me and my brain if I'm so patently unrewarding. But my dreams are for dreaming and best left that way and my zero to your power of ten equals nothing at all. There's no double-lock defense; there's no chain on my door. I'm available for consultation, But remember your way in is also my way out, and love's four-letter word is no compensation. Well, I'm the Black Ace dog-handler: I'm a waiter on skates so don't you jump to your foreskin conclusion. Because I'm up to my deaf ears in cold breakfast trays to be cleared before I can dine on your sweet Sunday lunch confusion. |
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9. |
| 7:34 | ||||
My first and last time with you
And we had some fun. Went walking through the trees, yeah! And then I kissed you once. Oh I want to see you soon But I wonder how. It was a new day yesterday But it's an old day now. Spent a long time looking For a game to play. My luck should be so bad now To turn out this way. Oh I had to leave today Just when I thought I'd found you. It was a new day yesterday But it's an old day now. |
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10. |
| 6:35 | ||||
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, they've harrowed him in. Threw clods 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 lie 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 worse than that 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. |
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11. |
| 3:46 | ||||
Took a sad song of one sweet evening
I smiled and quickly turned away. It's not easy singing sad songs But still the easiest way I have to say. So when you look into the sun See all the things we haven't done -- Oh was it better then to run Than to spend the summer crying. Now summer cannot come anyway. I had waited for time to change her. The only change that came was over me. She pretended not to want love -- I hope she was only fooling me. So when you look into the sun Look for the pleasures nearly won. Or was it better then to run Than to spend the summer singing. And summer could have come in a day. So if you hear my sad song singing Remember who and what you nearly had. It's not easy singing sad songs When you can sing the song to make me glad. So when you look into the sun And see the words you could have sung: It's not too late, only begun, We can still make summer. Yes, summer always comes anyway. So when you look into the sun And see the words you could have sung: It's not too late, only begun. Look into the sun. |
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12. |
| 3:46 | ||||
Once in Royal David's City
Stood a lonely cattle shed, Where a mother held her baby. You'd do well to remember the things he later said. When you're stuffing yourselves at the Christmas parties, You'll just laugh when I tell you to take a running jump. You're missing the point I'm sure does not need making That Christmas spirit is not what you drink. So how can you laugh when your own mother's hungry, And how can you smile when the reasons for smiling are wrong? And if I just messed up your thoughtless pleasures, Remember, if you wish, this is just a Christmas song. (Hey! Santa! Pass us that bottle, will you?) |
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13. |
| 3:52 | ||||
From a dead beat to an old greaser, here's thinking of you.
You won't remember the long nights; coffee bars; black tights and white thighs in shop windows where blonde assistants fully-fashioned a world made of dummies (with no mummies or daddies to reject them). When bombs were banned every Sunday and the Shadows played F.B.I. And tired young sax-players sold their instruments of torture --- sat in the station sharing wet dreams of Charlie Parker, Jack Kerouac, Ren'e Magritte, to name a few of the heroes who were too wise for their own good --- left the young brood to go on living without them. Old queers with young faces --- who remember your name, though you're a dead beat with tired feet; two ends that don't meet. To a dead beat from an old greaser. Think you must have me all wrong. I didn't care, friend. I wasn't there, friend, If it's the price of pint that you need, ask me again. |
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14. |
| 3:52 | ||||
Winds howled, rains spit down.
All these nights playing precious games. Cheap hotel in some seaboard town Closed down for the winter and whispered names. Puppy-dog waves on a big moon sea Snapped our heels half-heartedly. How come you know better than me that this is not love? No, this is not love. Empty drugstore, postcards freeze Sunburst images of summers gone. Think I see us in these promenade days Before we learned October's song. Out on the headland, one gale-whipped tree - Curious, head bent to see. How come you know better than me that this is not love? No, this is not love. This is not love, yeah. How come you know better than me, Well, how come you know better than me. So how come you know better than me that this is not love? This is not love. Down to the sad south, smoky plumes Mark that real world city home. Broken spells and silent gloom Ooze from that concrete honeycomb. Puppy-dog waves on a big moon sea Snapped our heels half-heartedly. And how come you know better than me that this is not love? No, this is not love. No, this is not love. This is not love, this is not love, this is not love. |
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15. |
| 6:10 | ||||
16. |
| 3:33 | ||||
In the half-tone light of a young morning
she sighs and shifts on the pillow. And across her face dancing, the first shadows fly to kiss the Pussy Willow. In her fairy-tale world she's a lost soul singing in a sad voice nobody hears. She waits in her castle of make-believe for her white knight to appear. Pusy Willow down fur-lined avenue brushing the sleep from her young woman eyes. Runs for the train, see: eight o'clock's coming cutting dreams down to size again. Pussy Willow down fur-lined avenue, brushing the sleep from her young woman eyes. Runs from the train. Hear her typewriter humming, cutting dreams down to size again. She longs for the East and a pale dress flowing an apartment in old Mayfair. Or to fish the Spey, spinning the first run of Spring or to die for a cause somewhere. Pussy Willow down fur-lined avenue, brushing the sleep from her young woman eyes. Runs from the train. Hear her typewriter humming, cutting dreams down to size again. Pussy Willow, Pussy Willow, Pussy Willow, Pussy Willow. |
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17. |
| 5:54 | ||||
In the shuffling madness
Of the locomotive breath Runs the all time loser Headlong to his death Oh, he feels the pistons screaming Steam breaking on his brow Old Charlie stole the handle And the train it won't stop going No way to slow down He sees his children jumpin’ off At stations one by one His woman and his best friend In bed and having fun So he's crawling down the corridor On his hands and knees Old Charlie stole the handle And the train it won't stop going No way to slow down He hears the silence howling Catches angels as they fall And the all time winner Has got him by the balls Oh, he picks up Gideon's Bible Open at page one I think God, he stole the handle And the train it won't stop going No way to slow down No way to slow down No way to slow down No way to slow down No way to slow down |