John Glascock

Let me bring you songs from the wood:
To make you feel much better than you could know -
Dust you down from tip to toe -
Show you how the garden grows -
Hold you steady as you go -
Join the chorus if you can:
It'll make of you an honest man.

Let me bring you love from the field:
Poppies red and roses filled with summer rain
To heal the wound and still the pain
That threatens again and again
As you drag down every lovers' lane.
Life's long celebration's here.
I'll toast you all in penny cheer.

Let me bring you all things refined:
Galliards and Lute songs served in chilling ale.
Greeting well-met fellow, hail!
I am the wind to fill your sail.
I am the cross to take your nail:
A singer of these ageless times -
With kitchen prose and gutter rhymes.

Songs from the wood - make you feel much better
Songs from the wood - make you feel much better

Songs from the wood
Songs from the wood

Let me bring you love from the field:
Poppies red and roses filled with summer rain
To heal the wound and still the pain
That threatens again and again
As you drag down every lovers' lane.
Life's long celebration's here.
I'll toast you all in penny cheer.

Songs from the wood - make you feel much better
Songs from the wood - make you feel much better

He sits quietly under every tree
In the folds of his velvet gown.
He drinks from the empty acorn cup.
The dew that dawn sweetly bestows.
And taps his cane upon the ground -
Signals the snow drops, it's time to grow

It's no fun being Jack-in-the-Green:
No place to dance, no time for song.
He wears the colours of the summer soldier;
And carries the green flag all the winter long.

Jack do you never sleep - does the green still run deep in your heart?
Or will these changing times, motorways, powerlines, keep us apart?
Well, I don't think so.
I saw some grass growing through the pavements today.

The Rowan, the Oak and the Holly tree
Are the charges left for him to groom.

Each blade of grass whispers, "Jack-in-the-Green."
"Oh Jack, please help me through my winter's night."
And - "We are the berries on the Holly tree:
Oh, the Mistle Thrush is coming. Jack, put out the light!"

May I make my fond excuses for the late-ness of the hour;
But we accept your invitation, and would bring you Beltane's flower.
For the May Day is the great day, sung along the old straight track.
And those who ancient lines did ley will heed this song that
calls them
back.

Pass the word and pass the lady and pass the plate to all who hunger.
And pass the wit of ancient wisdom, pass the Cup of Crimson Wonder.
And pass the Cup of Crimson Wonder.

Ask the Green Man where he comes from, ask the cup that fills with
red.
Ask the old grey standing stones who show the sun his way to bed.
Question all as to their ways, and learn the secrets that they hold.
Walk the lines of Nature's palm, crossed with silver and with gold.

Pass the cup and pass the lady and pass the plate to all who hunger.
And pass the wit of ancient wisdom, pass the Cup of Crimson Wonder.
And pass the Cup of Crimson Wonder.

Join in black December's sadness, lie in August's welcome corn.
Stir the cup that's ever filling with the blood of all that's born.
But the May Day is the great day, sung along the old straight track.
And those who ancient lines did ley will heed this song that
calls them
back.

Pass the word and pass the lady and pass the plate to all who hunger.
And pass the wit of ancient wisdom, pass the Cup of Crimson Wonder.
And pass the Cup of Crimson Wonder.

One day I walked the road and crossed a field to go by where the
hounds ran
hard.
And on the master raced: behind the hunters chased to where the
path was
barred.
One fine young lady's horse refused the fence to clear.
I unlocked the gate but she did wait until the pack had disappeared.

Crop-handle carved in bone; sat high upon a throne of finest
English
leather.
The Queen of all the Pack: this joker raised his hat and talked
about the
weather.
All should be warned about this high-born Hunting Girl.
She took this simple man's downfall in hand; I raised the flag
that she
unfurled.

Boot leather flashing and spur-necks the size of my thumb.
This high-born hunter had tastes as strange as they come.

Unbridled passion: I took the bit in my teeth.
Her standing over: me on my knees underneath.

My lady, be discrete. I must get to my feet and go back to the farm.
Whilst I appreciate you are no deviate, I might come to some harm.
I'm not inclined to acts refined, if that's how it goes.
Oh, high-born Hunting Girl, I'm just a normal low-born so-and-so.

Now is the solstice of the year. Winter is the glad song that you
hear.
Seven maids move in seven time. Have the lads up ready in the line.
Ring out these bells. Ring out, ring Solstice Bells.
Ring, Solstice Bells.

Join together 'neath the Mistle-toe. By the Holly oak where-on it
grows.
Seven Druids dance in seven time. Sing the song the Bells call
loudly
chime.
Ring out these bells. Ring out, ring Solstice Bells.
Ring, Solstice Bells.

Ring out. Ring out the Solstice Bells.
Ring out. Ring out the Solstice Bells.

Praise be to the distant sister Sun. Joyful as the silver planets run.
Seven maids move in seven time. Sing the song the Bells call loudly
chime.
Ring out those bells. Ring out, ring Solstice Bells.
Ring, Solstice Bells.

Ring out!
Ring out!
Ring out!
Ring out!

Walking on Velvet Green - Scots Pine growing.
Isn't it rare to be taking the air, sinning -
Walking on Velvet Green.

Walking on Velvet Green - distant cows lowing.
Never a care; with your legs in the air, loving -
Walking on Velvet Green.

Won't you have my company, yes, take it in your hands.
Go down on Velvet Green, with a country-man.
Who's a young girl's fancy and an old maid's dream.
Tell your mother that you walked all night on Velvet Green.

One dusky half-hour's ride up to the north.
There lies your reputation and all that you're worth.
Where the scent of wild roses turns the milk to cream.
Tell your mother that you walked all night on Velvet Green.

And the long grass blows in the evening cool.
And August's rare delight may be April's fool.
But think not of that my love, I'm tight against the seam.
And I'm growing up to meet you down on Velvet Green.

Now I may tell you that it's love and not just lust.
And if we live the lie, let's lie in trust.
On golden daffodils, to catch the silver stream
That washes out the wild oat seed on Velvet Green.

We'll dream as lovers under the stars:
Of civilizations raging afar.
And the ragged dawn breaks on your battle scars
As you walk home cold and alone upon Velvet Green.

Walking on Velvet Green - Scots Pine growing.
Isn't it rare to be taking the air, sinning -
Walking on Velvet Green.

Walking on Velvet Green - distant cows lowing.
Never a care; with your legs in the air, loving -
Walking on Velvet Green.

I'll buy you six bay mares, to put in your stable;
Six golden apples bought with my pay.
I am the first piper who calls the sweet tune
But I must be gone by the seventh day.

So come on - I'm the Whistler. I have a fife and a drum to play.
Get ready - for the Whistler. I whistle along on the seventh day.
Whistle along on the seventh day.

All kinds of sadness I've left behind me.
Many's the day when I have done wrong.
But I'll be yours for ever and ever.
Climb in the saddle and whistle along.

So come on - I'm the Whistler. I have a fife and a drum to play.
Get ready - for the Whistler. I whistle along on the seventh day.
Whistle along on the seventh day.

Deep red are the sunsets in mystical places.
Black are the nights on summer-day sands.
We'll find the speck of truth in each riddle:
Hold the first grain of love in our hands

So come on - I'm the Whistler. I have a fife and a drum to play.
Get ready - for the Whistler. I whistle along on the seventh day.
So come on - I'm a Whistler. I have a fife and a drum to play.
Get ready - for the Whistler. I whistle along on the seventh day.
Whistle along on the seventh day.

There's a light in the house, in the wood in the valley.
There's a thought in the head, of the man.
Who carries his dreams, like the coat slung on his shoulder,
Bringing you love, in the cap in his hand.

And each step he takes, is one half of a life-time:

No word he would say, could you understand.
So he bundles his regrets, into a gesture of sorrow,
Bringing you love, cap in hand.

Catching breath, as he looks through the dining-room window:
Candle-lit table, for two has been laid.
Strange slippers by the fire:
Strange boots in the hall-way.
Put my cap on my head - I turn, and walk away.

I believe in fires at midnight, when the dogs have all been fed.
A golden toddy on the mantle; a broken gun beneath the bed.
Silken mist outside the window -
Frogs and newts slip in the dark.
Too much hurry ruins a body:
I'll sit easy; fan the spark.

Kindled by the dying embers, of another working day.
Go upstairs: take off your make-up -
Fold your clothes neatly away.
Me, I'll sit and write this love song
As I all too seldom do -
Build a little fire this midnight.
It's good to be back home with you.

Kindled by the dying embers, of another working day.
Go upstairs: take off your make-up -
Fold your clothes neatly away.
Me, I'll sit and write this love song
As I all too seldom do -
Build a little fire this midnight.
It's good to be back home with you.

Muscled, black with steel-green eye
swishing through the rye grass
with thoughts of mouse-and-apple pie.
Tail balancing at half-mast.
...And the mouse police never sleeps ---
lying in the cherry tree.
Savage bed foot-warmer of purest feline ancestry.
Look out, little furry folk!
He's the all-night working cat.
Eats but one in every ten ---
leaves the others on the mat.
...And the mouse police never sleeps ---
waiting by the cellar door.
Window-box town crier;
birth and death registrar.
With claws that rake a furrow red ---
licensed to mutilate.
From warm milk on a lazy day
to dawn patrol on hungry hate.
...No, the mouse police never sleeps ---
climbing on the ivy.
Windy roof-top weathercock.
Warm-blooded night on a cold tile.

I'll make love to you in all good places -
Under black mountains, in open spaces.
By deep brown rivers that slither darkly,
Through far marches where the blue hare races.

Come with me to the Winged Isle -
Northern father's western child.
Where the dance of ages is playing still
Through far marches of acres wild.

I'll make love to you in narrow side streets,
With shuttered windows, and crumbling chimneys.

Come with me to the weary town -
Discos silent under tiles
That slide from roof-tops, scatter softly
On concrete marches of acres wild.

By red bricks pointed with cement fingers
Flaking damply from sagging shoulders.

Come with me to the Winged Isle -
Northern father's western child.
Where the dance of ages is playing still
Through far marches of acres wild

Keep your eyes open and prick up your ears,
Rehearse your loudest cry.
There's folk out there who would do you harm
So I'll sing you no lullaby.

There's a lock on the window, there's a chain on the door,
And a big dog in the hall.
But there's dragons and beasties out there in the night
To snatch you if you fall.

So come out fighting with your rattle in hand, thrust and parry. Light
A match to catch the devil's eye, bring a cross of fire to the fight.
And let no sleep bring false relief from the tension of the fray.
Come wake the dead with the scream of life, do battle with ghosts at play.
And gather your toys at the call-to-arms and swing your big bear down
Upon our necks when we come to set you sleeping safe and sound.
It's as well we tell no lie to chase the face that cries.
And little birds can't fly so keep an open eye.
It's as well we tell no lie, so I'll sing you no lullaby.

It's as well we tell no lie to chase the face that cries.
And little birds can't fly so keep an open eye.
It's as well we tell no lie, so I'll sing you no lullaby.

Keep your eyes open and prick up your ears,
Rehearse your loudest cry.
There's folk out there who would do you harm
So I'll sing you no lullaby.

There's a lock on the window, there's a chain on the door,
And a big dog in the hall.
But there's dragons and beasties out there in the night
To snatch you if you fall.

So come out fighting with your rattle in hand, thrust and parry. Light
A match to catch the devil's eye, bring a cross of fire to the fight.
And let no sleep bring false relief from the tension of the fray.
Come wake the dead with the scream of life, do battle with ghosts at play.
And gather your toys at the call-to-arms and swing your big bear down.
Upon our necks when we come to set you sleeping safe and sound.
It's as well we tell no lie to chase the face that cries.
And little birds can't fly so keep an open eye.
It's as well we tell no lie, so I'll sing you no lullaby.

Oh the leaded window opened
but you moved the dancing candle flame
and the first moths of summer
suicidal came, oh suicidal came.

And the new breeze chattered
in its May-bud tenderness
sending water-lilies sailing
as she turned to get undressed.

And the long night awakened
and we soared on powdered wings
circling our tomorrows
in the wary month of spring.

Chasing shadows slipping
in the magic lantern's light -
creatures of the candle
on the night's light's rite.

Dipping and weaving, flutter
through the golden needle's eye
in our haystack madness, butterfly stroking
on a spring-tide high.

Life's too long (as the lemmings said)
as the candle burned and the moths were wed.
And we'll all burn together as the wick grows higher
before the candle's dead.

Oh the leaded window opened
but you moved the dancing candle flame.
And the first moths of summer
suicidal came, oh suicidal came,
to join in the worship
of the light that never dies
in the moments reflection
of two moths spinning in her eyes.

Spine-tingling railway sleepers ---
Sleepy houses lying four-square and firm
Orange beams divide the darkness
Rumbling fit to turn the waking worm.
Sliding through Victorian tunnels
where green moss oozes from the pores.
Dull echoes from the wet embankments
Battlefield allotments. Fresh open sores.

In late night commuter madness
Double-locked black briefcase on the floor
like a faithful dog with master
sleeping in the draught beside the carriage door.
To each Journeyman his own home-coming
Cold supper nearing with each station stop
Frosty flakes on empty platforms
Fireside slippers waiting. Flip. Flop.

Journeyman night-tripping on the late fantasic
Too late to stop for tea at Gerard's Cross
and hear the soft shoes on the footbridge shuffle
as the wheels turn biting on the midnight frost.
On the late commuter special
Carriage lights that flicker, fade and die
Howling into hollow blackness
Dusky diesel shudders in full cry.
Down redundant morning papers
Abandon crosswords with a cough
Stationmaster in his wisdom
told the guard to turn the heating off.

I chase your every footstep
and I follow every whim.
When you call the tune I'm ready
to strike up the battle hymn.
My lady of the meadows ---
My comber of the beach ---
You've thrown the stick for your dog's trick
but it's floating out of reach.
The long road is a rainbow and the pot of gold lies there.
So slip the chain and I'm off again ---
You'll find me everywhere. I'm a Rover.

As the robin craves the summer
to hide his smock of red,
I need the pillow of your hair
in which to hide my head.
I'm simple in my sadness,
resourceful in remorse.
Then I'm down straining at the lead ---
holding on a windward course.

Strip me from the bundle
of balloons at every fair:
colourful and carefree ---
Designed to make you stare.
But I'm lost and I'm losing
the thread that holds me down.
And I'm up hot and rising
in the lights of every town.

Smile your little smile --- take some tea with me awhile.
Brush away that black cloud from your shoulder.
Twitch your whiskers. Feel that you're really real.
Another tea-time --- another day older.

Puff warm breath on your tiny hands.
You wish you were a man
who every day can turn another page.
Behind your glass you sit and look
at my ever-open book ---
One brown mouse sitting in a cage.

Do you wonder if I really care for you ---
Am I just the company you keep ---
Which one of us exercises on the old treadmill ---
Who hides his head, pretending to sleep?

Smile your little smile --- take some tea with me awhile.
And every day we'll turn another page.
Behind our glass we'll sit and look
at our ever-open book ---
One brown mouse sitting in a cage.

Iron-clad feather-feet pounding the dust
An October's day, towards evening
Sweat embossed veins standing proud to the plough
Salt on a deep chest seasoning
Last of the line at an honest day's toil
Turning the deep sod under
Flint at the fetlock, chasing the bone
Flies at the nostrils plunder.

The Suffolk, the Clydesdale, the Percheron vie
with the Shire on his feathers floating
Hauling soft timber into the dusk
to bed on a warm straw coating.

Heavy Horses, move the land under me
Behind the plough gliding --- slipping and sliding free
Now you're down to the few
And there's no work to do
The tractor's on its way.

Let me find you a filly for your proud stallion seed
to keep the old line going.
And we'll stand you abreast at the back of the wood
behind the young trees growing
To hide you from eyes that mock at your girth,
and your eighteen hands at the shoulder
And one day when the oil barons have all dripped dry
and the nights are seen to draw colder
They'll beg for your strength, your gentle power
your noble grace and your bearing
And you'll strain once again to the sound of the gulls
in the wake of the deep plough, sharing.

Standing like tanks on the brow of the hill
Up into the cold wind facing
In stiff battle harness, chained to the world
Against the low sun racing
Bring me a wheel of oaken wood
A rein of polished leather
A Heavy Horse and a tumbling sky
Brewing heavy weather.

Bring a song for the evening
Clean brass to flash the dawn
across these acres glistening
like dew on a carpet lawn
In these dark towns folk lie sleeping
as the heavy horses thunder by
to wake the dying city
with the living horseman's cry
At once the old hands quicken ---
bring pick and wisp and curry comb ---
thrill to the sound of all
the heavy horses coming home.

Good morning Weathercock,
How'd you fare last night?
Did the cold wind bite you,
Did you face up to the fright
When the leaves spin from October
And whip around your tail?
Did you shake from the blast,
And did you shiver through the gale?

Give us direction, the best of goodwill,
Put us in touch with fair winds.
Sing to us softly, hum evening's song,
Tell us what the blacksmith has done for you.

Do you simply reflect changes
In the patterns of the sky,
Or is it true to say the weather heeds
The twinkle in your eye?
Do you fight the rush of winter,
And hold snowflakes at bay?
Do you lift the dawn sun from the fields
And help him on his way?

Good morning Weathercock, make this day bright.
Put us in touch with your fair winds.
Sing to us softly, hum evening's song.
Point the way to better days we can share with you.

The bomb's in the china. The fat's in the fire.
There's no turkey left on the table.
The commuter's return on the six o'clock flyer
brings no bale of hay for the stable.
Well, the light, it is failing along the green belt
as we follow the hard road signs.
Semi-detached in our suburban-ness ---
we're living in these hard times.

Well the fly's in the milk and the cat's in the stew.
Another bun in the oven --- oh, what to do?
We'll laugh and we'll sing and try to bring
a pound from your pocket.
Good day to you.
Oh, these hard times.

The politicians sat on the wall
and traded with the union game.
Someone slapped a writ on our deficit ---
not a penny left to our name.
Oh, the times are hard and the credits lean,
and they toss and they turn in sleep.
And the line they take is the line they make ---
but it's not the line they keep.

The cow jumped over yesterday's moon
and the lock ran away with the key.
You know what you like, and you like what you know
but there is no jam for tea.
Well the light it is failing along the green belt
as we follow the hard road signs.
Semi-detached in our suburban-ness ---
we're living in these hard times.

There's a light in the house in the wood in the valley.
There's a thought in the head of the man.
Who carries his dreams like the coat slung on his shoulder,
Bringing you love in the cap in his hand.

And each step he takes is one half of a lifetime:
no word he would say could you understand.
So he bundles his regrets into a gesture of sorrow,
Bringing you love cap in hand.

Catching breath as he looks through the dining-room window:
candle lit table for two has been laid.
Strange slippers by the fire.
Strange boots in the hallway.
Put my cap on my head.
I turn and walk away.

The old Rocker wore his hair too long,
wore his trouser cuffs too tight.
Unfashionable to the end --- drank his ale too light.
Death's head belt buckle --- yesterday's dreams ---
the transport caf' prophet of doom.
Ringing no change in his double-sewn seams
in his post-war-babe gloom.

Cut along the dotted line --- slip in and seal the flap.
Postal competition crazy, though you wear the dunce's cap.
Win a fortnight in Ibiza --- line up for the big hand out.
You'll never know unless you try --- what winning's all about --- be a quizz kid.
Be a whizz kid.
Six days later there's a rush telegram Drop everything and telephone this number if you can.
It's a free trip down to London for a weekend of high life.
They'll wine you; dine you; undermine you --- better not bring the wife --- be a quizz kid.
Be a whizz kid.

It's a try out for a quizz show that millions watch each week.
Following the fate and fortunes of contestants as they speak.
Answerable to everyone; responsible to all; publicity dissected ---
brain cells splattered on the walls of encyclopaedic knowledge.
May be barbaric but it's fun. As the clock ticks away a lifetime,
hold your head up to the gun of a million cathode ray tubes aimed at your tiny skull.
May you find sweet inspiration --- may your memory not be dull. May you rise to dizzy success.
May your wit be quick and strong. May you constantly amaze us.
May your answers not be wrong. May your head be on your shoulders.
May your tongue be in your cheek. And most of all we pray that you may come back next week!
Be a quizz kid.
Be a whizz kid.

Just a little touch of make-up; just a little touch of bull;
just a little 3-chord trick embedded in your platform soul;
you can wear a gold Piaget on your Semaphore wrist;
you can dance the old adage with a dapper new twist.
And you can ring a crown of roses round your cranium,
live and die upon your cross of platinum.
Join the crazed institution of the stars.
Be the man that you think (know) you really are.
Crawl inside your major triad, curl up and laugh as your agent scores another front page photograph.
Is it them or is it you throwing dice inside the loo awaiting someone else to pull the chain.
Well grab the old bog-handle, hold your breath and light a candle.
Clear your throat and pray for rain to irrigate the corridors that echo in your brain
filled with empty nothingness, empty hunger pains.
And you can ring a crown of roses round your cranium,
live and die upon your cross of platinum.
Join the crazed institution of the stars.
Be the man that you think (know) you really are.

Salamander --- born in the sun-kissed flame.
Who was it lit your candle --- branded you with your name?
I see you walking by my window in your Kensington haze.
Salamander, burn for me and I'll burn for you.

Shake a leg, it's the big rush, can't find a taxi can't find a bus.
Bodies jammed in the underground evacuating London town.
Nowhere to put your feet as the big store shoppers and the pavements meet.
Red lights --- pin stripes --- short step shuffle into the night.

Tea time calls --- the Bingo Halls open at seven in the old front stalls.
How about a Taxi Grab.

There's an empty cab by the taxi stand driver's in the cafe washing his hands.
Big diesel idles --- the keys inside --- c'mon Sally let's take a ride.
Flag down --- uptown --- no sweat. For rush hour travel, it's the best bet yet.

Taxi Grab.

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.

Yes'n she's bad-eyed and she's loveless.
A young man's fancy and an old man's dream.
I'm self raising and I flower in her company.
Give me no sugar without her cream.

She's a warm fart at Christmas.
She's a breath of champagne on sparkling night.
Yes'n she's bad-eyed and she's loveless.
Turns other women to envious green.
Yes'n she's bad-eyed and she's loveless.
She's a young man's vision in my old man's dream.

The mist rolls off the beaches:
the train rolls into the station.
Uh-Huh!
Weekend happiness seekers pent-up saturation.
Uh-Huh!
Well, we don't mean anyone any harm,
we weren't on the Glasgow train.
See you at the Pleasure Beach:
roller-coasting heroes.
Uh-Huh!

Big Dipper riding
we'll give the local lads a hiding
if they keep us from the ladies
hanging out in the penny arcades.
Shaking up the Tower Ballroom
throwing up in the bathroom.
Landlady's in the backroom
I'm the Big Dipper
it's the weekend rage.

Rich widowed landlady give me your spare front door key
Uh-Huh!
If you're 39 or over, I'll make love to you next Thursday
Uh-Huh!
I may stay over for a week or two
drop a postcard to my mum.
I'll see you at the waltzer
we'll go big-dipping daily.
Uh-Huh!

Now if you think Ray blew it,
there was nothing to it.
They patched him up as good as new.
You can see him every day ---
riding down the queen's highway,
handing out his small cigars to the kids from school.
And all the little girls with their bleached blond curls
clump up on their platform soles.
And they say ``Hey Ray --- let's ride away
downtown where we can roll some alley bowls.
And Ray grins from ear to here, and whispers...

So follow me. Trail along.
my leather jacket's buttoned up.
And my four-stroke song
will pick you up when your last class ends;
and you can tell all your friends:
The Pied Piper pulled you,
The mad biker fooled you,
I'll do what you want to:
If you ride with me on a Friday
anything goes.

So follow me, hold on tight.
My school girl fancy's flowing in free flight.
I've a tenner in my skin tight jeans.
You can touch it if your hands are clean.

The Pied Piper pulled you,
the mad biker folled you,
I'll do what you want to:
If you ride with me on a Friday
anything goes.

The disc brakes drag, the chequered flag sweeps across the oil-slick track.
The young man's home; dry as a bone. His helmet off, he waves: the crowd waves back.
One lap victory roll. Gladiator soul.
The taker of the day in winning has to say
Isn't it grand to be playing to the stand, dead or alive.

The sunlight streaks through the curtain cracks
Touches the old man where he sleeps.
The nurse brings up a cup of tea ? two biscuits and the morning paper mystery.
The hard road's end, the white God's send is nearer everyday, in dying the old man says
Isn't it grand to be playing to the stand, dead or alive.

The still-born child can't feel the rain as the chequered flag falls once again.
The deaf composer completes his final score. He'll never hear his sweet encore.
The chequered flag, the bull's red rag
The lemming-hearted hordes running ever-faster to the shore singing,
Isn't it grand to be playing to the stand, dead or alive.

A small cigar can change the world
I know, I've done it frequently at parties
Where I've won all the guests' attention
With my generosity and suave gentlemanly bearing
A little flat tin case is all you need
Breast-pocket conversation opener
And one of those ciggie lighters that look rather good
You can throw away when empty
Must be declared a great success
My small cigars all vanish within minutes

Excuse me, mine host, that I may visit
A nearby tobacconist
To replenish my supply of small cigars
And make the party swing again

I know my clothes seem shabby
And don't fit this Hampstead soiree
Where unread copies of Rolling Stone
Well-thumbed Playboys
Decorate the hi-fi stereo record shelves
If you ask me they're on their way
To upper-middle-class oblivion
The stupid twits, they roll their only
One cigarette between them
My small cigar's redundant now
In the haze of smoking pleasure
Call it a day
Get the hell away
Go down the cafe
For a cup of real tea

By the tube station, there's a drunk old fool
Who sells papers in the rush hour
I hand to him ten small cigars
He smiles, says, Son, God bless you

A small cigar
Has changed his world, my friend
A small cigar
Has changed the world again

A small cigar . . .

Fish and chips, sandpaper lips and a rainy pavement.
Soho lights, another night --- thinking of you.
Black cat, sat on a wall, winks at me darkly.
Suggesting ways and means that I might win a smile ---

as you leave the place where you work until 12.30
and the policemen nods as you pass along his beat.
Sweaty feet, troubled brow -- we're all in the same game, lady.
Life's no bowl of cherries --- it's a black and white strip cartoon.

I've been warned that you and your friends are crazy
as from your hearts you bare your parts to the gentlemen,
who, while they drool, trying to keep cool,
spill their Scotch and water.
But I'm not that way, I must say --- I'd much prefer to see
you in your texturised rubber rainwear around 12.30.
Come and play shades of grey in my black and white strip cartoon.
Strip cartoon is all I'm after.
Strip cartoon is all I crave ---
so come to my place around 12.30
'cos I'm a leading politician
at a dangerous age.

Black and viscous--bound to cure blue lethargy
Sugar-plum petroleum for energy
Tightrope-balanced payments need a small reprieve
Oh, please believe we want to be

In North Sea
In North Sea oil

New-found wealth sits on the shelf of yesterday
Hot-air balloon inflation soon will make you pay
Riggers rig and diggers dig their shallow grave
But we'll be saved and what we crave

Is North Sea
Is North Sea oil

Prices boom in Aberdeen and London Town
Ten more years to lay the fears, erase the frown
Before we are all nuclear--the better way!
Oh, let us pray: we want to stay

In North Sea
In North Sea
In North Sea oil

Orion, won't you give me your star sign
Orion, get up on the sky-line
I'm high on my hill and I feel fine
Orion, let's sip the heavens' heady wine

Orion, light your lights:
Come guard the open spaces
From the black horizon to the pillow where I lie.
Your faithful dog shines brighter than its lord and master
Your jewelled sword twinkles as the world rolls by.
So come up singing above the cloudy cover
Stare through at people who toss fitful in their sleep.
I know you're watching as the old gent by the station
Scuffs his toes on old fag packets lying in the street

Orion, won't you give me your star sign
Orion, get up on the sky-line
I'm high on my hill and I feel fine
Orion, let's sip the heavens' heady wine

And silver shadows flick across the closing bistro.
Sweet waiters link their arms and patter down the street,
Their words lost blowing on cold winds in darkest Chelsea.
Prime years fly fading with each young heart's beat.

Orion, won't you make me a star sign
Orion, get up on the sky-line
I'm high on your love and I feel fine
Orion, let's sip the heavens' heady wine

And young girls shiver as they wait by lonely bus-stops
After sad parties: no-one to take them home
To greasy bed-sitters and make a late-night play
For lost virginity a thousand miles away.

Orion, won't you make me a star sign
Orion, get up on the sky-line
I'm high on your love and I feel fine
Orion, let's sip the heavens' heady wine

On the sky-line
Orion

As the dawn sun breaks over sleepy gardens
I'll be here to do all things to comfort you.
And though I've been away
left you alone this way
why don't you come awake
and let your first smile take me home.

The shadows in the park were longer yesterday
and Lady Luck stood still, waiting for the kill.
And on a jumbo ride
over seas grey, deep and wide
I flew for heaven's sake
and let the angels take me home.

Down steep and narrow lanes I see the chimneys smoking
above the golden fields ... know what the robin feels
in his summer jamboree.
All elements agree
in sweet and stormy blend ---
midwife to winds that send me home.

Darlings are you ready for the long winter's fall?
said the lady in her parlor
said the butler in the hall.
Is there time for another?
cried the drunkard in his sleep.
Not likely
said the little child. What's done
the Lord can keep.
And the vicar stands a-praying.
And the television dies
as the white dot flickers and is gone
and no-one stops to cry.
The big jet rumbles over runway miles
that scar the patchwork green
where slick tycoons and rich buffoons
have opened up the seam
of golden nights and champagne flights
ad-man overkill
and in the haze
consumer crazed
we take the sugar pill.
Jagged fires mark the picket lines
the politicians weep
and mealy-mouthed
through corridors of power on tip-toe creep.
Come and see bureaucracy
make its final heave
and let the new disorder through
while senses take their leave.
Families screaming line the streets
and put the windows through
in corner shops
where keepers kept
the country's life-blood blue.
Take their pick
and try the trick
with loaves and fishes shared
and the vicar shouts
as the lights go out,
and no-one really cares.
Dark Ages
shaking the dead
Closed pages
better not read
Cold rages
burn in your head.

She wore a black tiara
rare gems upon her fingers
and she came from distant waters
where northern lights explode
to celebrate the dawning
of the new wastes of winter
gathering royal momentum
on the icy road.

With chill mists swirling
like petticoats in motion
sighted on horizons
for ten thousand years
the lady of the ice sounds
a deathly distant rumble
to Titanic-breaking children lost
in melting crystal tears.

Oh, sunshine --- take me now away from here
I'm a needle on a spiral in a groove.
And the turntable spins
as the last waltz begins
And the weather-man says
something's on the move.

Capturing black pieces
in a glass-fronted museum
the white queen rolls
on the chessboard of the dawn
squeezing through the valleys
pausing briefly in the corries
the Ice-Mother mates
and a new age is born.

Oh, sunshine --- take me now away from here
I'm a needle on a spiral in a groove.
And the turntable spins
as the last waltz begins
And the weather-man says
something's on the move.

Driving all before her
un-stoppable, un-straining
her cold creaking mass
follows reindeer down.
Thin spreading fingers seek
to embrace the sill-warm bundles
that huddle on the doorsteps
of a white London Town.

Oh, sunshine --- take me now away from here
I'm a needle on a spiral in a groove.
And the turntable spins
as the last waltz begins
And the weather-man says
something's on the move.

Hair stands high on the cat's back like
a ridge of threatening hills.
Sheepdogs howl, make tracks and growl ---
their tails hanging low.
And young children falter in their games
at the altar of life's hide-and-seek
between tall pillars, where Sunday-night killers
in grey raincoats peek.

I'll be coming again like an old dog in pain
Blown through the eye of the hurricane
Down to the stones where old ghosts play.

Misty colours unfold a backcloth cold ---
fine tapestry of silk
I draw around me like a cloak
and soundless glide a-drifting
on eddies whirled in beech leaves furled ---
brown and gold they fly
in the warm mesh of sunlight
sifting now from a cloudless sky.

I'll be coming again like an old dog in pain
Blown through the eye of the hurricane
Down to the stones where old ghosts play.

Clear light on a slick palm
as I mis-deal the day
Slip the night from a shaved pack
make a marked card play
Call twilight hours down
from a heaven home
high above the highest bidder
for the good Lord's throne
In the wee hours I'll meet you
down by Dun Ringill ---
oh, and we'll watch the old gods play
by Dun Ringill
We'll wait in stone circles
'til the force comes through ---
lines joint in faint discord
and the stormwatch brews
a concert of kings
as the white sea snaps
at the heels of a soft prayer
whispered
In the wee hours I'll meet you
down by Dun Ringill ---
oh, and I'll take you quickly
by Dun Ringill.

Old lady with a barrow; life near ending
Standing by the harbour wall; warm wishes sending
children on the cold sea swell ---
not fishers of men ---
gone to chase away the last herring:
come empty home again.
So come all you lovers of the good life
on your supermarket run ---
Set a sail of your own devising
and be there when the Dutchman comes.
Wee girl in a straw hat: from far east warring
Sad cargo of an old ship: young bodies whoring
Slow ocean hobo --- ports closed to her crew
No hope of immigration --- keep on passing through.
So come all you lovers of the good life
your children playing in the sun ---
set a sympathetic flag a-flying
and be there when the Dutchman comes.
Death grinning like a scarecrow --- Flying Dutchman
Seagull pilots flown from nowhere --- try and touch one
as she slips in on the full tide
and the harbour-master yells
All hands vanished with the captain ---
no one left, the tale to tell.

So come all you lovers of the good life
Look around you, can you see?
Staring ghostly in the mirror ---
it's the Dutchman you will be
..floating slowly out to sea
in a misty misery.

Black and viscous--bound to cure blue lethargy
Sugar-plum petroleum for energy
Tightrope-balanced payments need a small reprieve
Oh, please believe we want to be

In North Sea
In North Sea oil

New-found wealth sits on the shelf of yesterday
Hot-air balloon inflation soon will make you pay
Riggers rig and diggers dig their shallow grave
But we'll be saved and what we crave

Is North Sea
Is North Sea oil

Prices boom in Aberdeen and London Town
Ten more years to lay the fears, erase the frown
Before we are all nuclear--the better way!
Oh, let us pray: we want to stay

In North Sea
In North Sea
In North Sea oil

Orion, won't you give me your star sign
Orion, get up on the sky-line
I'm high on my hill and I feel fine
Orion, let's sip the heavens' heady wine

Orion, light your lights:
Come guard the open spaces
From the black horizon to the pillow where I lie.
Your faithful dog shines brighter than its lord and master
Your jewelled sword twinkles as the world rolls by.
So come up singing above the cloudy cover
Stare through at people who toss fitful in their sleep.
I know you're watching as the old gent by the station
Scuffs his toes on old fag packets lying in the street

Orion, won't you give me your star sign
Orion, get up on the sky-line
I'm high on my hill and I feel fine
Orion, let's sip the heavens' heady wine

And silver shadows flick across the closing bistro.
Sweet waiters link their arms and patter down the street,
Their words lost blowing on cold winds in darkest Chelsea.
Prime years fly fading with each young heart's beat.

Orion, won't you make me a star sign
Orion, get up on the sky-line
I'm high on your love and I feel fine
Orion, let's sip the heavens' heady wine

And young girls shiver as they wait by lonely bus-stops
After sad parties: no-one to take them home
To greasy bed-sitters and make a late-night play
For lost virginity a thousand miles away.

Orion, won't you make me a star sign
Orion, get up on the sky-line
I'm high on your love and I feel fine
Orion, let's sip the heavens' heady wine

On the sky-line
Orion

She wore a black tiara
rare gems upon her fingers
and she came from distant waters
where northern lights explode
to celebrate the dawning
of the new wastes of winter
gathering royal momentum
on the icy road.

With chill mists swirling
like petticoats in motion
sighted on horizons
for ten thousand years
the lady of the ice sounds
a deathly distant rumble
to Titanic-breaking children lost
in melting crystal tears.

Oh, sunshine --- take me now away from here
I'm a needle on a spiral in a groove.
And the turntable spins
as the last waltz begins
And the weather-man says
something's on the move.

Capturing black pieces
in a glass-fronted museum
the white queen rolls
on the chessboard of the dawn
squeezing through the valleys
pausing briefly in the corries
the Ice-Mother mates
and a new age is born.

Oh, sunshine --- take me now away from here
I'm a needle on a spiral in a groove.
And the turntable spins
as the last waltz begins
And the weather-man says
something's on the move.

Driving all before her
un-stoppable, un-straining
her cold creaking mass
follows reindeer down.
Thin spreading fingers seek
to embrace the sill-warm bundles
that huddle on the doorsteps
of a white London Town.

Oh, sunshine --- take me now away from here
I'm a needle on a spiral in a groove.
And the turntable spins
as the last waltz begins
And the weather-man says
something's on the move.

Hair stands high on the cat's back like
a ridge of threatening hills.
Sheepdogs howl, make tracks and growl ---
their tails hanging low.
And young children falter in their games
at the altar of life's hide-and-seek
between tall pillars, where Sunday-night killers
in grey raincoats peek.

I'll be coming again like an old dog in pain
Blown through the eye of the hurricane
Down to the stones where old ghosts play.

Misty colours unfold a backcloth cold ---
fine tapestry of silk
I draw around me like a cloak
and soundless glide a-drifting
on eddies whirled in beech leaves furled ---
brown and gold they fly
in the warm mesh of sunlight
sifting now from a cloudless sky.

I'll be coming again like an old dog in pain
Blown through the eye of the hurricane
Down to the stones where old ghosts play.

Clear light on a slick palm
as I mis-deal the day
Slip the night from a shaved pack
make a marked card play
Call twilight hours down
from a heaven home
high above the highest bidder
for the good Lord's throne
In the wee hours I'll meet you
down by Dun Ringill ---
oh, and we'll watch the old gods play
by Dun Ringill
We'll wait in stone circles
'til the force comes through ---
lines joint in faint discord
and the stormwatch brews
a concert of kings
as the white sea snaps
at the heels of a soft prayer
whispered
In the wee hours I'll meet you
down by Dun Ringill ---
oh, and I'll take you quickly
by Dun Ringill.

Old lady with a barrow; life near ending
Standing by the harbour wall; warm wishes sending
children on the cold sea swell ---
not fishers of men ---
gone to chase away the last herring:
come empty home again.
So come all you lovers of the good life
on your supermarket run ---
Set a sail of your own devising
and be there when the Dutchman comes.
Wee girl in a straw hat: from far east warring
Sad cargo of an old ship: young bodies whoring
Slow ocean hobo --- ports closed to her crew
No hope of immigration --- keep on passing through.
So come all you lovers of the good life
your children playing in the sun ---
set a sympathetic flag a-flying
and be there when the Dutchman comes.
Death grinning like a scarecrow --- Flying Dutchman
Seagull pilots flown from nowhere --- try and touch one
as she slips in on the full tide
and the harbour-master yells
All hands vanished with the captain ---
no one left, the tale to tell.

So come all you lovers of the good life
Look around you, can you see?
Staring ghostly in the mirror ---
it's the Dutchman you will be
..floating slowly out to sea
in a misty misery.

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

There was a warm wind with the high tide
On the south of the hill
When a young girl went a-walking
And I followed with a will

Good day to you, my fine young lady
With your lips so sweetly full
May I help you comb your long hair
Sweep it from that brow so cool

Up, ride with the kelpie
I'll steal your soul to the deep
If you don't ride with me while the devil's free
I'll ride with somebody else

Well, I'm a man when I'm feeling
The urge to step ashore
So I may charm you, not alarm you
Tell you all fine things and more

Up, ride with the kelpie
I'll steal your soul to the deep
If you don't ride with me while the devil's free
I'll ride with somebody else

Say goodbye to all your dear kin
For they hate to see you go
In your young prime to this place of mine
In the still loch far below

Up, ride with the kelpie
I'll steal your soul to the deep
If you don't ride with me while the devil's free
I'll ride with somebody else

Up, ride with the kelpie
I'll steal your soul to the deep
If you don't ride with me while the devil's free
I'll ride with somebody else

Up, ride with the kelpie
I'll steal your soul to the deep

Black and viscous--bound to cure blue lethargy
Sugar-plum petroleum for energy
Tightrope-balanced payments need a small reprieve
Oh, please believe we want to be

In North Sea
In North Sea oil

New-found wealth sits on the shelf of yesterday
Hot-air balloon inflation soon will make you pay
Riggers rig and diggers dig their shallow grave
But we'll be saved and what we crave

Is North Sea
Is North Sea oil

Prices boom in Aberdeen and London Town
Ten more years to lay the fears, erase the frown
Before we are all nuclear--the better way!
Oh, let us pray: we want to stay

In North Sea
In North Sea
In North Sea oil

Orion, won't you give me your star sign
Orion, get up on the sky-line
I'm high on my hill and I feel fine
Orion, let's sip the heavens' heady wine

Orion, light your lights:
Come guard the open spaces
From the black horizon to the pillow where I lie.
Your faithful dog shines brighter than its lord and master
Your jewelled sword twinkles as the world rolls by.
So come up singing above the cloudy cover
Stare through at people who toss fitful in their sleep.
I know you're watching as the old gent by the station
Scuffs his toes on old fag packets lying in the street

Orion, won't you give me your star sign
Orion, get up on the sky-line
I'm high on my hill and I feel fine
Orion, let's sip the heavens' heady wine

And silver shadows flick across the closing bistro.
Sweet waiters link their arms and patter down the street,
Their words lost blowing on cold winds in darkest Chelsea.
Prime years fly fading with each young heart's beat.

Orion, won't you make me a star sign
Orion, get up on the sky-line
I'm high on your love and I feel fine
Orion, let's sip the heavens' heady wine

And young girls shiver as they wait by lonely bus-stops
After sad parties: no-one to take them home
To greasy bed-sitters and make a late-night play
For lost virginity a thousand miles away.

Orion, won't you make me a star sign
Orion, get up on the sky-line
I'm high on your love and I feel fine
Orion, let's sip the heavens' heady wine

On the sky-line
Orion

As the dawn sun breaks over sleepy gardens
I'll be here to do all things to comfort you.
And though I've been away
left you alone this way
why don't you come awake
and let your first smile take me home.

The shadows in the park were longer yesterday
and Lady Luck stood still, waiting for the kill.
And on a jumbo ride
over seas grey, deep and wide
I flew for heaven's sake
and let the angels take me home.

Down steep and narrow lanes I see the chimneys smoking
above the golden fields ... know what the robin feels
in his summer jamboree.
All elements agree
in sweet and stormy blend ---
midwife to winds that send me home.

She wore a black tiara
rare gems upon her fingers
and she came from distant waters
where northern lights explode
to celebrate the dawning
of the new wastes of winter
gathering royal momentum
on the icy road.

With chill mists swirling
like petticoats in motion
sighted on horizons
for ten thousand years
the lady of the ice sounds
a deathly distant rumble
to Titanic-breaking children lost
in melting crystal tears.

Oh, sunshine --- take me now away from here
I'm a needle on a spiral in a groove.
And the turntable spins
as the last waltz begins
And the weather-man says
something's on the move.

Capturing black pieces
in a glass-fronted museum
the white queen rolls
on the chessboard of the dawn
squeezing through the valleys
pausing briefly in the corries
the Ice-Mother mates
and a new age is born.

Oh, sunshine --- take me now away from here
I'm a needle on a spiral in a groove.
And the turntable spins
as the last waltz begins
And the weather-man says
something's on the move.

Driving all before her
un-stoppable, un-straining
her cold creaking mass
follows reindeer down.
Thin spreading fingers seek
to embrace the sill-warm bundles
that huddle on the doorsteps
of a white London Town.

Oh, sunshine --- take me now away from here
I'm a needle on a spiral in a groove.
And the turntable spins
as the last waltz begins
And the weather-man says
something's on the move.

Hair stands high on the cat's back like
a ridge of threatening hills.
Sheepdogs howl, make tracks and growl ---
their tails hanging low.
And young children falter in their games
at the altar of life's hide-and-seek
between tall pillars, where Sunday-night killers
in grey raincoats peek.

I'll be coming again like an old dog in pain
Blown through the eye of the hurricane
Down to the stones where old ghosts play.

Misty colours unfold a backcloth cold ---
fine tapestry of silk
I draw around me like a cloak
and soundless glide a-drifting
on eddies whirled in beech leaves furled ---
brown and gold they fly
in the warm mesh of sunlight
sifting now from a cloudless sky.

I'll be coming again like an old dog in pain
Blown through the eye of the hurricane
Down to the stones where old ghosts play.

Clear light on a slick palm
as I mis-deal the day
Slip the night from a shaved pack
make a marked card play
Call twilight hours down
from a heaven home
high above the highest bidder
for the good Lord's throne
In the wee hours I'll meet you
down by Dun Ringill ---
oh, and we'll watch the old gods play
by Dun Ringill
We'll wait in stone circles
'til the force comes through ---
lines joint in faint discord
and the stormwatch brews
a concert of kings
as the white sea snaps
at the heels of a soft prayer
whispered
In the wee hours I'll meet you
down by Dun Ringill ---
oh, and I'll take you quickly
by Dun Ringill.

Old lady with a barrow; life near ending
Standing by the harbour wall; warm wishes sending
children on the cold sea swell ---
not fishers of men ---
gone to chase away the last herring:
come empty home again.
So come all you lovers of the good life
on your supermarket run ---
Set a sail of your own devising
and be there when the Dutchman comes.
Wee girl in a straw hat: from far east warring
Sad cargo of an old ship: young bodies whoring
Slow ocean hobo --- ports closed to her crew
No hope of immigration --- keep on passing through.
So come all you lovers of the good life
your children playing in the sun ---
set a sympathetic flag a-flying
and be there when the Dutchman comes.
Death grinning like a scarecrow --- Flying Dutchman
Seagull pilots flown from nowhere --- try and touch one
as she slips in on the full tide
and the harbour-master yells
All hands vanished with the captain ---
no one left, the tale to tell.

So come all you lovers of the good life
Look around you, can you see?
Staring ghostly in the mirror ---
it's the Dutchman you will be
..floating slowly out to sea
in a misty misery.

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

There was a warm wind with the high tide
On the south of the hill
When a young girl went a-walking
And I followed with a will

Good day to you, my fine young lady
With your lips so sweetly full
May I help you comb your long hair
Sweep it from that brow so cool

Up, ride with the kelpie
I'll steal your soul to the deep
If you don't ride with me while the devil's free
I'll ride with somebody else

Well, I'm a man when I'm feeling
The urge to step ashore
So I may charm you, not alarm you
Tell you all fine things and more

Up, ride with the kelpie
I'll steal your soul to the deep
If you don't ride with me while the devil's free
I'll ride with somebody else

Say goodbye to all your dear kin
For they hate to see you go
In your young prime to this place of mine
In the still loch far below

Up, ride with the kelpie
I'll steal your soul to the deep
If you don't ride with me while the devil's free
I'll ride with somebody else

Up, ride with the kelpie
I'll steal your soul to the deep
If you don't ride with me while the devil's free
I'll ride with somebody else

Up, ride with the kelpie
I'll steal your soul to the deep

You'll hear me calling in your sweet dream
Can't hear your daddy's warning cry
You're going back to be all the things you want to be
While in sweet dreams you softly sigh

You hear my voice is calling
To be mine again
Live the rest of your life in a day

Get out and get what you can
While your mummy's at home a-sleeping
No time to understand
'Cause they lost what they thought they were keeping

No one can see us in your sweet dream
Don't hear you leave to start the car
All wrapped up tightly in the coat you borrowed from me,
Your place of resting is not far

You hear my voice is calling
To be mine again
Live the rest of your life in a day

Get out and get what you can
While your mummy's at home a-sleeping
No time to understand
'Cause they lost what they thought they were keeping

Get out and get what you can
While your mummy's at home a-sleeping
No time to understand
'Cause they lost what they thought they were keeping

Have you seen Jack-In-The-Green?
With his long tail hanging down.
He quietly sits under every tree ---
in the folds of his velvet gown.
He drinks from the empty acorn cup
the dew that dawn sweetly bestows.
And taps his cane upon the ground ---
signals the snowdrops it's time to grow.

It's no fun being Jack-In-The-Green ---
no place to dance, no time for song.
He wears the colours of the summer soldier ---
carries the green flag all the winter long.

Jack, do you never sleep ---
does the green still run deep in your heart?
Or will these changing times,
motorways, powerlines,
keep us apart?
Well, I don't think so ---
I saw some grass growing through the pavements today.

The rowan, the oak and the holly tree
are the charges left for you to groom.
Each blade of grass whispers Jack-In-The-Green.
Oh Jack, please help me through my winter's night.
And we are the berries on the holly tree.
Oh, the mistlethrush is coming.
Jack, put out the light.

Smile your little smile --- take some tea with me awhile.
Brush away that black cloud from your shoulder.
Twitch your whiskers. Feel that you're really real.
Another tea-time --- another day older.

Puff warm breath on your tiny hands.
You wish you were a man
who every day can turn another page.
Behind your glass you sit and look
at my ever-open book ---
One brown mouse sitting in a cage.

Do you wonder if I really care for you ---
Am I just the company you keep ---
Which one of us exercises on the old treadmill ---
Who hides his head, pretending to sleep?

Smile your little smile --- take some tea with me awhile.
And every day we'll turn another page.
Behind our glass we'll sit and look
at our ever-open book ---
One brown mouse sitting in a cage.

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.

Let me bring you songs from the wood:
to make you feel much better than you could know.
Dust you down from tip to toe.
Show you how the garden grows.
Hold you steady as you go.
Join the chorus if you can:
it'll make of you an honest man.
Let me bring you love from the field:
poppies red and roses filled with summer rain.
To heal the wound and still the pain
that threatens again and again
as you drag down every lover's lane.
Life's long celebration's here.
I'll toast you all in penny cheer.
Let me bring you all things refined:
galliards and lute songs served in chilling ale.
Greetings well met fellow, hail!
I am the wind to fill your sail.
I am the cross to take your nail:
A singer of these ageless times.
With kitchen prose and gutter rhymes.
Songs from the wood make you feel much better.

Thick As A Brick

Really don't mind if you sit this one out.
My words but a whisper -- your deafness a SHOUT.
I may make you feel but I can't make you think.
Your sperm's in the gutter -- your love's in the sink.

So you ride yourselves over the fields and
you make all your animal deals and
your wise men don't know how it feels
to be thick as a brick.

And the sand-castle virtues are all swept away
In the tidal destruction the moral melee.
The elastic retreat rings the close of play
as the last wave uncovers the newfangled way.

But your new shoes are worn at the heels
and your suntan does rapidly peel
and your wise men don't know how it feels
to be thick as a brick.

And the love that I feel is so far away:
I'm a bad dream that I just had today --
and you shake your head
and say it's a shame.

Spin me back down the years and the days of my youth.
Draw the lace and black curtains and shut out the whole truth.
Spin me down the long ages: let them sing the song.

See there! A son is born --
and we pronounce him fit to fight.
There are black-heads on his shoulders,
and he pees himself in the night.
We'll make a man of him
put him to trade
teach him to play Monopoly
and not to sing in the rain.

The Poet and the painter casting shadows on the water --
as the sun plays on the infantry returning from the sea.
The do-er and the thinker: no allowance for the other --
as the failing light illuminates the mercenary's creed.
The home fire burning: the kettle almost boiling --
but the master of the house is far away.
The horses stamping -- their warm breath clouding
in the sharp and frosty morning of the day.
And the poet lifts his pen while the soldier sheaths his sword.

And the youngest of the family
Is moving with authority.
Building castles by the sea,
he dares the tardy tide
to wash them all aside.

The cattle quietly grazing at the grass down by the river
where the swelling mountain water moves onward to the sea:
the builder of the castles renews the age-old purpose
and contemplates the milking girl whose offer is his need.
The young men of the household have all gone into service
and are not to be expected for a year.
The innocent young master -- thoughts moving ever faster --
has formed the plan to change the man he seems.
And the poet sheaths his pen while the soldier lifts his sword.

And the oldest of the family
Is moving with authority.
Coming from across the sea,
he challenges the son
who puts him to the run.

What do you do when the old man's gone --
do you want to be him?
And your real self sings the song.
Do you want to free him?
No one to help you get up steam --
and the whirlpool turns you 'way off-beam.

LATER.
I've come down from the upper class
to mend your rotten ways.
My father was a man-of-power
whom everyone obeyed.
So come on all you criminals!
I've got to put you straight
just like I did with my old man --
twenty years too late.
Your bread and water's going cold.
Your hair is too short and neat.
I'll judge you all and make damn sure
that no-one judges me.

You curl your toes in fun as you smile at everyone --
you meet the stares. You're unaware that your doings aren't done.
And you laugh most ruthlessly as you tell us what not to be.
But how are we supposed to see where we should run?

I see you shuffle in the courtroom with your rings upon your fingers
and your downy little sidies and your silver-buckle shoes.
Playing at the hard case, you follow the example
of the comic-paper idol who lets you bend the rules.

So! Come on ye childhood heroes!
Won't you rise up from the pages
of your comic-books your super crooks
and show us all the way.
Well! Make your will and testament.
Won't you? Join your local government.
We'll have Superman for president
let Robin save the day.

You put your bet on number one and it comes up every time.
The other kids have all backed down and they put you first in line.
And so you finally ask yourself just how big you are --
and take your place in a wiser world of bigger motor cars.
And you wonder who to call on.

So! Where the hell was Biggles when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen who always pulled you though?
They're all resting down in Cornwall --
writing up their memoirs for a paper-back edition of the Boy Scout Manual.

LATER.
See there! A man born --
and we pronounce him fit for peace.
There's a load lifted from his shoulders
with the discovery of his disease.
We'll take the child from him
put it to the test
teach it to be a wise man
how to fool the rest.

QUOTE
We will be geared to the average rather than the exceptional
God is an overwhelming responsibility
we walked through the maternity ward and saw 218 babies wearing nylons
It says here that cats are on the upgrade
upgrade? Hipgrave. Oh, Mac.

LATER
In the clear white circles of morning wonder,
I take my place with the lord of the hills.
And the blue-eyed soldiers stand slightly discoloured (in neat little rows)
sporting canvas frills.
With their jock-straps pinching, they slouch to attention,
while queueing for sarnies at the office canteen.
Saying -- how's your granny and good old Ernie:
he coughed up a tenner on a premium bond win.

The legends (worded in the ancient tribal hymn) lie cradled in the seagull's call.
And all the promises they made are ground beneath the sadist's fall.
The poet and the wise man stand behind the gun,
and signal for the crack of dawn. Light the sun.

Do you believe in the day?
Do you? Believe in the day!
The Dawn Creation of the Kings has begun.
Soft Venus (lonely maiden) brings the ageless one.

Do you believe in the day?
Do you? Believe in the day!
The fading hero has returned to the night --
and fully pregnant with the day, wise men endorse the poet's sight.
Do you believe in the day?
Do you? Believe in the day!

Let me tell you the tales of your life
of your love and the cut of the knife
the tireless oppression the wisdom instilled
the desire to kill or be killed.
Let me sing of the losers who lie
in the street as the last bus goes by.
The pavements are empty: the gutters run red --
while the fool toasts his god in the sky.

So come all ye young men who are building castles!
Kindly state the time of the year
and join your voices in a hellish chorus.
Mark the precise nature of your fear.

Let me help you pick up your dead
as the sins of the father are fed
with the blood of the fools and the thoughts of the wise
and from the pan under your bed.
Let me make you a present of song as
the wise man breaks wind and is gone while
the fool with the hour-glass is cooking his goose and
the nursery rhyme winds along.

So! Come all ye young men who are building castles!
Kindly state the time of the year
and join your voices in a hellish chorus.
Mark the precise nature of your fear.
See! The summer lightning casts its bolts upon you
and the hour of judgement draweth near.
Would you be the fool stood in his suit of armour
or the wiser man who rushes clear.

So! Come on ye childhood heroes!
Won't your rise up from the pages
of your comic-books your super-crooks
and show us all the way.
Well! Make your will and testament.
Won't you? Join your local government.
We'll have Superman for president
let Robin save the day.

So! Where the hell was Biggles when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen who always pulled you through?
They're all resting down in Cornwall -- writing up their memoirs
for a paper-back edition of the Boy Scout Manual.

OF COURSE
So you ride yourselves over the fields
and you make all your animal deals
and your wise men don't know how it feels
to be thick as a brick.

Keep your eyes open and prick up your ears,
Rehearse your loudest cry.
There's folk out there who would do you harm
So I'll sing you no lullaby.

There's a lock on the window, there's a chain on the door,
And a big dog in the hall.
But there's dragons and beasties out there in the night
To snatch you if you fall.

So come out fighting with your rattle in hand, thrust and parry. Light
A match to catch the devil's eye, bring a cross of fire to the fight.
And let no sleep bring false relief from the tension of the fray.
Come wake the dead with the scream of life, do battle with ghosts at play.
And gather your toys at the call-to-arms and swing your big bear down
Upon our necks when we come to set you sleeping safe and sound.
It's as well we tell no lie to chase the face that cries.
And little birds can't fly so keep an open eye.
It's as well we tell no lie, so I'll sing you no lullaby.

It's as well we tell no lie to chase the face that cries.
And little birds can't fly so keep an open eye.
It's as well we tell no lie, so I'll sing you no lullaby.

Keep your eyes open and prick up your ears,
Rehearse your loudest cry.
There's folk out there who would do you harm
So I'll sing you no lullaby.

There's a lock on the window, there's a chain on the door,
And a big dog in the hall.
But there's dragons and beasties out there in the night
To snatch you if you fall.

So come out fighting with your rattle in hand, thrust and parry. Light
A match to catch the devil's eye, bring a cross of fire to the fight.
And let no sleep bring false relief from the tension of the fray.
Come wake the dead with the scream of life, do battle with ghosts at play.
And gather your toys at the call-to-arms and swing your big bear down.
Upon our necks when we come to set you sleeping safe and sound.
It's as well we tell no lie to chase the face that cries.
And little birds can't fly so keep an open eye.
It's as well we tell no lie, so I'll sing you no lullaby.

One day I walked the road
And crossed a field to go
By where the hounds ran hard.
And on the master raced,
Behind the hunters chased
To where the path was barred.
One fine young lady's horse refused the fence to clear.
I unlocked the gate but she did wait until the pack had disappeared.

Crop handle carved in bone,
Sat high upon a throne
Of finest English leather.
The queen of all the pack,
This joker raised his hat
And talked about the weather.
All should be warned about this high born Hunting Girl.
She took this simple man's downfall in hand, I raised the flag that she unfurled.

Boot leather flashing and spurnecks the size of my thumb.
This highborn hunter had tastes as strange as they come.

Unbridled passion, I took the bit in my teeth.
Her standing over, me on my knees underneath, underneath.

My lady, be discrete,
I must get to my feet
And go back to the farm.
Whilst I appreciate
You are no deviate,
I might come to some harm.
I'm not inclined to acts refined, if that's how it goes.
Oh, high born Hunting Girl, I'm just a normal low born so and so.