1. |
Teacups
03:53
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All the clouds are grey
On this fine afternoon in January
And the tea's pipin' hot
Steamin' up the cups.
Cigarettes under covers
Undressed
Cigarettes under covers
Undressed.
The speakers sing of sad songs
The singers are dead or old now
Your skin is warm to the touch
It makes me amorous
The day starts at half past two
Cos the boiler's been broke since June
Wet socks inside wet shoes
Walking through puddles
Got nothin' to lose
Sunday busses are a pain
Caught in the rain
In Newtongrange.
The speakers sing of sad songs
The singers are dead or old now
Your skin is warm to the touch
It makes me amorous
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2. |
Like An Actor
03:45
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Like an actor
Who doesn't smoke
But is smokin' for a movie
The way you hold me
Is no longer natural
It's no longer natural.
Like an old rocker
Singin' an old song of theirs
It doesn't mean
What it used to mean.
We don't mean what we used to mean.
Yes I'll miss you,
the way you twist your feet
the way you smiled at me.
This is not a verse, this is not a verse
for how I loved you.
[But compassion responds to catastrophe. See when BB King says "nobody loves me but my momma, and what if she might be jivin too?" that's CATASTROPHE! Every force in the world, cosmic, physiological, spiritual, moral is against you but you got one person in your corner calling you precious - momma - but what if she might be jivin'? That's CATASTROPHE. Even Sophocles of Antigone can't deal at that level.]
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3. |
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Peggy dear, the evenin's clear
Thick flies, the skimmin' swallow
The sky is blue, the fields in view
All fadin' green and yellow
So let us stray our gladsome way
Review the charms of nature
The rustlin' corn, the fruit-filled thorns
And all the happy creatures.
We'll gently walk, sweetly talk
While the moon shines clearly.
I'll hold you close, fondly press
And swear to how I love you dearly.
Not spring showers to these buds in flower
Not autumn to the farmer
The rustlin' corn, the fruit filled thorns
We're like two happy creatures.
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4. |
Grey Grey City
02:40
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The city's beautiful
In the rain.
The sky opens up
And pours its soul
On to us
In the grey grey city
We call "home".
Down the street
And through the drains
The rain flows
and I'm indoors
Pourin' my soul
Into a song
About the bleak, bleak city
I adore.
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Jack MF Plymouth, UK
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