Ian Anderson

My hand of thumbs is shaking
I am so glad to meet you
All tongue-tied and twisted
My lips stuck like glue

More than a lifetime to say, "How are you?"
More than an ocean to cross becalmed.
Less than a second to sink in silence.
Yours truly, I remain disarmed.


Saw you peeping from the corner.
Your eyes seemed to call hello.
I'm all too easily mistaken,
My feet unsteady as they go.

Was I a suave and confident trickster
I would sweep you up and carry you down
To raspberry meadows under diamond skies
and just mess around. Just mess around.

A raft of penguins on a frozen sea.
Expectant faces look down on me.
Shuffle uneasy. The whistler plays.
Counting eleven, they begin to pray.

Tenuous but clinging, the missing link
Joins us, closer than we might think.
Some half remembered coarse jungle drum ?
A naked heart-beat, trill and hum.


This world's no stage for the faint at heart.
Each symphony, a sum of parts.
Each overture, a sweet foreplay.
Let's crash and burn some other day.

Bonded in terror or suspicion deep
Tentative tiptoe or giant leap
Call down the angels to guide them in
A raft of penguins take to the wing.

A week of moments ? a clutch of days ?
Ten thousand minutes of a Passion Play.
Medley of quavers informs the tune.
It's all too much: over all too soon.

Sweet condensation on chilling wine
Traveler's palm, flamboyant tree
Fast photos ripped and lost consign
A week of moments to faint memory.


A week of moments plucked from the page
Found far horizons, a sunset stage.
Suitcases bulge, in silence packed
A chapter closed: no looking back.

The lightest touch upon my arm
No fierce restraint, no call to stay.
Hushed room maids glide like pawns to king
With pool attendants in chess piece array.

Got a birthday card at Christmas
It made me think of Jesus Christ.
It said, "I love you" in small letters.
I simply had to read it twice.

Wood smoke curled from blackened chimneys.
The smell of frost was in the air.
Pole star hovered in the blackness.
I looked again: it wasn't there.

People have showered me with presents.
While their minds were fixed on other things.
Sleigh bells, bearded red suit uncles.
Pointy trees and angel wings.

I am the shadow in your Christmas.
I am the corner of your smile.
Perfunctory in celebration.
You offer content but no style.

That little baby Jesus.
He got a birthday card or three.
Gold trinkets and cheap frankincense.
Some penny baubles for his tree.

Have some time off for good behaviour.
Forty days, give or take a few.
Hey there, sweet baby Jesus
Let's share a birthday card with you.

I get lost in crowds: if I can, I remain invisible
to the hungry mouths. I stay unapproachable.
I wear the landscape of the urban chameleon.
Scarred by attention. And quietly addicted to innocence.

At starry parties where, amongst the rich and the famous
I'm stuck for words: or worse, I blether with the best of them.
I see their eyes glaze and they look for the drinks tray.
Something in the drift of my conversation bothers them.

So, who am I? Come on: ask me, I dare you.
So, who am I? Come on: question me, if you care to.
And why not try to interrogate this apparition?

I melt away to get lost in this quaint condition.

In scary airports, in concourses over-filled,
I am detached in serious observation.
As a passenger, I become un-tethered when
I get lost in clouds: at home with my own quiet company.

Herald Tribune or USA Today. Sauvignon Blanc or oaky Chardonnay.
Asleep for the movie. Awake for the dawn
dancing on England and hedgerows ?
embossed on a carpet of green. I descend and ?
forgive me ? I mean to get lost in crowds.

Dinner table chattering classes -
tells us all we need to know.
Like it. Lump it. Dig it. Dump it -
on your late, late show.

And do you think you're Ralitsa Vassileva?
You're just hand-me-down news in a cookie jar.
It's a long way from here to CNN in America
and a red-eyed opinion too far.

Dish the dirt or dish the gravy.
Spill the beans to me.
Sinking fast in terminal boredom ?
Feigned interest flying free.

And do you think you're Ralitsa Vassileva etc.


Talking monkey, breaking news junkie, tragedies to reveal.
Light and breezy, up-beat squeezy, close in to touchy-feel.

Pass the Merlot, dance the three-step
Cut to a better chase.
Align yourself with no proposition
and simpler thoughts embrace.

Let's talk about me. Let's talk about you.
In a world of private rooms.
Hide awhile from dark stormbringers ?
sad messengers of doom.

Sadly, you can't be Ralitsa Vassileva, .....

And do you think you're Ralitsa Vassileva, .....

My old black cat passed away this morning
He never knew what a hard day was.
Woke up late and danced on tin roofs.
If questioned "Why?" ? answered, "Just because."

He never spoke much, preferring silence:
eight lost lives was all he had.
Occasionally sneaked some Sunday dinner.
He wasn't good and he wasn't bad.

My old black cat wasn't much of a looker.
You could pass him by ? just a quiet shadow.
Got pushed around by all the other little guys.
Didn't seem to mind much ? just the way life goes.

Padded about in furry slippers.
Didn't make any special friends.
He played it cool with wide-eyed innocence,
Receiving gladly what the good Lord sends.

Forgot to give his Christmas present.
Black cat collar, nice and new.
Thought he'd make it through to New Year.
I guess this song will have to do.

My old black cat???.
Old black cat????

A Morris Minor, a cafe noir ?
Banana smoothie, snails in a jar.
Three dodgy sailors, a girl on skates ?
A little too muscled from doing weights.

A family wedding, a sushi bar ?
Sand in the Seychelles, karaoke star.
Lads on the razzle get lost in love.
Paddington station, rain clouds above.


The crumpled sheets of a long hot summer.
Stored images like an acorn, drop.
Squirreled away, but still remembered
by the man in the photo shop.

Rush hour on Praed Street: behind the glass ?
a picture process, in one hour fast.
Intimate portraits of topless wives ?
flashed indiscretions: snap-happy lives.

I'm thinking free - like the bird
flying over, over the animals
in the zoo. How do you do?
What's it like to be in there? Think about it.

You're locked behind wires.
Safe and warm - under house arrest protection
from the wild, wild storm and tempest
raging here on the outside. Think about it.

Pigeon I. Pigeon toed.
I'm pigeon-friendly as pigeons go.


Pigeon lonely. Pigeon English.
What's it like to be in there? Think about it.

Harsh spaces. Empty freedom.
Scary concept. Wrong side of the window.
Which one of us will wake imprisoned
come tomorrow? Think about it.

Give it due consideration.
Weigh it up. Kiss me quickly.
Pigeon friendly. Let me in there
to be with you. Mull it over. (Think about it.)

Find some way to square the circle.
Feet slipping, sliding on the level.
Connect to reason, is there anybody there?
Drum it in to me now if you dare.

Triangles by Isosceles.
Principles by Archimedes.
Amo, amas; even amat
make for one less way to skin the cat.

Two short planks ?
Try my luck on another day
Must be thick as
two short planks ?
That's about all that I have to say.


Two short planks ?
Pop the question: I sit the test
Must be thick as
two short planks ?
Spin me round till I come to rest.

They say truth comes flooding if you let it.
But what happens if I just don't get it?
I'm blissful in my sweet ignorance
and delight in my incompetence.
Two short planks ?
Try my luck on another day
Must be thick as two short planks ?
That's about all that I have to say. Two short planks ?
Pop the question: I sit the test Must be thick as two short planks ?
Spin me round till I come to rest.

We saw the heavens break and all the world go down to sleep
and rocks on mossy banks drip acid rain from craggy steeps
Saw fiery angels kiss the dawn
Wish you goodbye till further on
Will you still be there further on?

And troubled dynasties, like legions lost, have blown away
Hounds hard upon their heels call to their quarry --- wait and play
Before the last faint light has gone
Wish you goodbye till further on
Will you still be there further on?

The angry waves grow high --- cut icy teeth on northern shores
Brave fires that flicker, cough --- give way to winds
through broken doors
And with the last line almost drawn --- wish you goodbye till further on
Will you still be there further on?

Tomorrow is the one day I would change for a Monday
with freezing rains melting and no trains running
and sad eyes passing in windows flimsy
and my seat rocking from legs not quite matching
Got passport, credit cards, a plane that I'm catching
Black Sunday falls one day too soon

The taxi that takes me will be moving too quickly
My suitcases simply too full for the closing
of pants, shirts and kisses all packed in a hurry
Two best-selling paper backs chosen at random ---
no sign of sales-persons to whom I might hand them
Black Sunday falls one day too soon

And down at the airport are probably waiting
a few thousand passengers, overbooked seating
Time long suspended in transit-lounge traumas ---
connections broken and Special Branch waiting
conspicuously standing in holiday clothing
Black Sunday falls one day too soon

Pick up my feet and kick off my lethargy
Down to the gate with the old mood upon me
Get out and chase the small immortality
born in the minute of my next returning
Impatient feet tapping and cigarette burning
Homecoming one day too soon

And back at the house there's a grey sky a-tumbling
Milk bottles piling on door steps a-crumbling
Curtains all drawn and cold water plumbing
Notepaper scribbles I read unbelieving
Saying how sorry, how sad was the leaving
...one day too soon

Tomorrow is the one day I would change for a Monday
with freezing rains melting and no trains running
and sad eyes passing in windows flimsy
and my seat rocking from legs not quite matching
Got passport, credit cards, a plane that I'm catching
Black Sunday falls one day too soon

The taxi that takes me will be moving too quickly
My suitcases simply too full for the closing
of pants, shirts and kisses all packed in a hurry
Two best-selling paper backs chosen at random ---
no sign of sales-persons to whom I might hand them
Black Sunday falls one day too soon

And down at the airport are probably waiting
a few thousand passengers, overbooked seating
Time long suspended in transit-lounge traumas ---
connections broken and Special Branch waiting
conspicuously standing in holiday clothing
Black Sunday falls one day too soon

Pick up my feet and kick off my lethargy
Down to the gate with the old mood upon me
Get out and chase the small immortality
born in the minute of my next returning
Impatient feet tapping and cigarette burning
Homecoming one day too soon

And back at the house there's a grey sky a-tumbling
Milk bottles piling on door steps a-crumbling
Curtains all drawn and cold water plumbing
Notepaper scribbles I read unbelieving
Saying how sorry, how sad was the leaving
...one day too soon

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.

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.

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

They said protect and you'll survive ---
(But our postman didn't call)
8lbs. of over-pressure wave seemed to glue him to the wall
They said protect and you'll survive

E.M.P. took out the radio ---
(And our milk-man didn't call)
Flash blinded by the pretty lights,
Didn't see his bottles fall
Or feel the warm black rain arrive

Big friendly cloud builds in the West
(And our dust-men haven't called)
They left the dual carriageway at a hundred miles an hour ---
A tail wind chasing them away

And in deep shelters lurk below, sub-regional control
Who sympathise but cannot help
To mend your body or your soul
Self-appointed guadians of the race with egg upon their face
When steady sirens sing all-clear they pop up,
Find nobody here

And so I watch two new suns spin ---
(Our paper man doesn't call)
Burnt shadow printed on the road --- now there's nothing there at all
They said protect and you'll survive

Meanwhile back in the year one,
When you belonged to no one,
You didn't stand a chance, son,
If your pants were undone.

'Cause you were bred, for humanity
And sold to society
One day you'll wake up, in the present day
A million generations removed from expectations
Of being who you really want to be.

Skating away, skating away, skating away,
On the thin ice of the new day

So as you push off from the shore,
Won't you turn your head once more
And make your peace with everyone.
For those who choose to stay
Will live just one more day,
To do the things they should've done.
And as you cross the wilderness,
Spinning in your emptiness
If you have to, pray.
Looking for a sign, that the universal minds
Has written you into the passion play.

Skating away, skating away, skating away
On the thin ice of the new day

And as you cross the circle line,
Well the ice wall creaks behind
You're a rabbit on the run.
And the silver splinters fly
In the corner of your eye,
Shining in the setting sun.
Well do you ever get the feeling
That the story's too damn real
And in the present tense.
Or that everbody's on the stage
And it seems like you're the only
Person sitting in the audience

Skating away, skating away, skating away
On the thin ice of the new day

Skating away, skating away, skating away

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

See black, see yellow with little notebooks drawn
See grey stripes bowling down the street
Silver streaks and T-shirts so precisely torn
Strange foreign chaps in white bed-sheets ---
Uniforms

See golden halo'd men of high renown
prance to the politicians' beat
Well tailored in unswerving elegance
with shoes by Gucci on their feet ---
Uniforms

How do you know who the hell you are?
Wake up each day under a different star
Dressed to the nines, meet yourself going home
like a clone, smartly dressed in your pressed uniform

White battle dress on green pitch, proud eleven
Beneath the swelling box so neat
the teeming millions of the future fly ---
the spinning cricket ball to cheat
They're all uniform

When I was a young man (as all good tales begin)
I was taught to hold out my hand
And for my pay I worked an honest day
And took what pittance I could win
Now I'm a working john and I'm a working joe
And I'm doing what I know
For God and the economy
Big brother watches over me
And the state protects and feeds me
And my conscience never leaves me
And I'm loyal to the unions
Who protect me at all levels

And as I grew, the winds of fortune blew
And the bank smiled down upon me
And mortgaged to the hilt I threw
The breeze of caution behind me
Now I'm a working john and I'm a working joe


And I'm good at what I know
And God and the economy
Have blessed me with equality
Now I'm equal to the best of you
And better than the rest of you
Who would criticise my success
In times of national unrest

Now I own my horseless carriage
In it's central-heated garage
And I commute eighty miles a day ---
Up at seven to make it pay
I direct ten limited companies
With seeming consummate expertise
Two ulcers and a heart disease
A trembling feeling in both knees ---
I'm a working john and I'm a working joe

Sitting on a park bench
Eyeing little girls with bad intent

Snot running down his nose
Greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes
Hey, Aqualung

Drying in the cold sun
Watching as the frilly panties run
Hey, Aqualung

Feeling like a dead duck
Spitting out pieces of his broken luck
Whoa, Aqualung

Sun streaking cold
An old man wandering lonely
Taking time the only way he knows
Leg hurting bad
As he bends to pick a dog-end
He goes down to the bog and warms his feet

Feeling alone
The army's up the road
Salvation a la mode and a cup of tea
Aqualung, my friend
Don't you start away uneasy
You poor old sod, you see, it's only me

Do you still remember
December's foggy freeze
When the ice that
Clings onto your beard was
Screaming agony? Hey!
And you snatch your rattling last breaths
With deep-sea diver sounds
And the flowers bloom like
Madness in the spring

Sun streaking cold
An old man wandering lonely
Taking time the only way he knows
Leg hurting bad
As he bends to pick a dog-end
He goes down to the bog and warms his feet
Ohh

Feeling alone
The army's up the road
Salvation a la mode and a cup of tea
Aqualung, my friend
Don't you start away uneasy
You poor old sod, you see, it's only me
Ohh

Dee dee dee dee dee...

Aqualung, my friend
Don't you start away uneasy
You poor old sod, you see, it's only me

Sitting on a park bench
Eyeing little girls with bad intent

Snot running down his nose
Greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes
Hey, Aqualung

Drying in the cold sun
Watching as the frilly panties run
Hey, Aqualung

Feeling like a dead duck
Spitting out pieces of his broken luck
Hey, Aqualung

Whoa, Aqualung

On Preston Platform
Do your soft shoe shuffle dance
Brush away the cigarette ash
That's falling down your pants
And then you sadly wonder
Does the nurse treat your old man
The way she should?
She made you tea
Asked for your autograph--
What a laugh

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?)

It's a wide world out there
So much wider than imagined
I can't quite put my finger on the pulse
Of your heart softly beating
Just beneath the raw silk sheen
That reflects the tints of autumn from the hills.

So punch my name.
And in case you wonder -
I'll be yours - yours, dot com.

Executive accommodation
Bland but nonetheless appealing
Waiters discretely at your beck and call
Place the tall sun-down potion
Lightly by your velvet elbow
While you compose a message on the wall.

So punch my name.
And in case you wonder -
I'll be yours - yours, dot com.

With your handmade leather valise
Packed and ready, ready waiting
Showered and dressed down lightly for the heat
Gice a clue; leave a kind word
Hint as to a destination
A domain where our cyber-souls might meet.

So punch my name.
And in case you wonder -
I'll be yours - yours, dot com.

Don't want to be a fat man
People would think that I was just good fun, man
Would rather be a thin man
I am so glad to go on being one, man

Too much to carry around with you
No chance of finding a woman, who
Will love you in the morning and all the nighttime too

Don't want to be a fat man
Have not the patience to ignore all that
Hate to admit to myself
I thought my problems came from being fat

Won't waste my time feeling sorry for him
I've seen the other side to being thin
Roll us both down a mountain and I'm sure the fat man would win

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.

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.

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

As I did walk by Hampstead Fair,
I came upon Mother Goose,
So I turned her loose--
She was screaming.
And a foreign student said to me
Was it really true
There are elephants, lions too,
Piccadilly Circus?

Walked down by the bathing pond
To try and catch some sun.
Saw at least a hundred school girls
Sobbing into handkerchiefs as one.
I don't believe they knew
I was a schoolboy.

And a bearded lady said to me
If you start your raving
And your misbehaving,
You'll be sorry.
And the chicken fancier came to play
With his long red beard,
And his sister's weird--
She drives a lorry.

Laughed down by the putting green,
I popped 'em in their holes.
Four and twenty labourers were labouring
And digging up their gold.
I don't believe they knew
That I was Long John Silver.

Saw Johnny Scarecrow make his rounds
In his jet black mac
Which he won't give back--
Stole it from a snowman.
As I did walk by Hampstead Fair,
I came upon Mother Goose,
So I turned her loose--
She was screaming.

Walked down by the bathing pond
To try and catch some sun.
Must have been least a hundred school girls
Sobbing into handkerchiefs as one.
I don't believe they knew
I was a schoolboy.

My Sunday feeling is coming on over me.
My Sunday feeling is coming on over me,
Now that the night is over.
Got to clear my head so I can see.
Till I get to put together,
That old feeling won't let me be.

Won't somebody tell me where I laid my head last night?
Won't somebody tell me where I laid my head last night?
I really don't remember,
But with one more cigarette and I think I might.
Till I get to put together,
Well that old feeling can't get me right.

Need some assistance, have you listened to what I said?
Need some assistance, have you listened to what I said?
Oh, I don't feel so good.
Need someone to help me to my bed.
Till I get to put together,
That old feeling is in my head.

Nothing is easy.
Though time gets you worrying
My friend, it's OK.
Just take your life easy
And stop all that hurrying,
Be happy my way.

When tension starts mounting
And you've lost count
Of the pennies you've missed,
Just try hard and see why they're not worrying me,
They're last on my list.
Nothing's easy.

Nothing is easy, you'll find
That the squeeze won't turn out so bad.
Your fingers may freeze, worse things happen at sea,
There's good times to be had.
So if you're alone and you're down to the bone,
Just give us a play.
You'll smile in a while and discover
That I'll get you happy my way
Nothing's easy.

They said protect and you'll survive ---
(But our postman didn't call)
8lbs. of over-pressure wave seemed to glue him to the wall
They said protect and you'll survive

E.M.P. took out the radio ---
(And our milk-man didn't call)
Flash blinded by the pretty lights,
Didn't see his bottles fall
Or feel the warm black rain arrive

Big friendly cloud builds in the West
(And our dust-men haven't called)
They left the dual carriageway at a hundred miles an hour ---
A tail wind chasing them away

And in deep shelters lurk below, sub-regional control
Who sympathise but cannot help
To mend your body or your soul
Self-appointed guadians of the race with egg upon their face
When steady sirens sing all-clear they pop up,
Find nobody here

And so I watch two new suns spin ---
(Our paper man doesn't call)
Burnt shadow printed on the road --- now there's nothing there at all
They said protect and you'll survive

Words get written. Words get twisted.
Old meanings move in the drift of time.
Lift the flickering torches. See gentle shadows change
the features of the faces cut in unmoving stone.
Bad mouth on a prayer day, hope no one's listening.
Roots down in the wet clay, branches glistening.

True disciples carrying that message
to colour just a little with their personal touch.
Home-spun fancy weavers and naked half-believers --
Crusades and creeds descend like fiery flakes of snow.
Bad mouth on a prayer day, hope no one's listening.
Roots down in the wet clay, branches glistening.
Roots to branches
Roots to branches
Roots to branches

In wet and windy priest-holes. Grand in vast cathedrals.
High on lofty minarets or in the temples of doom.
I hope the old man's got his face on.
He'd better be some quick change artist.
Suffer little children to make their minds up soon.
Bad mouth on a prayer day, hope no one's listening.
Roots down in the wet clay, branches glistening.
Roots to branches
Roots to branches
Roots to branches

Roots to branches
Roots to branches
Roots to branches

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.

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

Wond'ring aloud --
How we feel today.
Last night sipped the sunset --
My hands in her hair.
We are our own saviours
As we start both our hearts beating life
Into each other.

Wond'ring aloud --
Will the years treat us well.
As she floats in the kitchen,
I'm tasting the smell
Of toast as the butter runs.
Then she comes, spilling crumbs on the bed
And I shake my head.
And it's only the giving
That makes you what you are.

I see you better now, shaded in deeper blue.
Hardly needing to carry the find-your-way lamp
Down to the river.
Tonight flies a better moon.

Sad water buffalo lie fast near the shallows;
A splash revealing the fly-catching fishes.
Dark gods silently watching.
Tonight flies a better moon.

I guess you've known lovers here, compliant in passion;
Softly laid in the old reed bed, harshly
Lit in the noon sun.
Tonight flies a better moon.

Now cloaked in this milky light, new as the virgin dawn,
Shrouded sweetly in all kinds of mystery,
You turn, smile and then are gone.
Tonight flies a better moon.

Pick up my wings and fly
Into a constable sky.
Look down on the world and try
To make you out on the distant ground.
Lonely toy in a lost toy-town.
Suspended in spiral sounds---
Sounds of circular breathing.

I'm a kite on a silver thread.
Daring lightning to strike me dead.

Harsh echoes of things you said
Banished me to a thinner space
With unholy ghosts of your bedroom face.
Hands cupped to my ears to place
The sound of circular breathing.

Matchbox cityscape below----
I watch lowry matchstick figures go.
Caught in the timeless flow of discreet silence.

Fires on the mountain, and the dogs bark.
Crash of the ocean swelling: crickets in the dark.
The temperature is rising. the village gets no sleep.
It's hardly surprising, given the hot company they keep.

Somebody's home in the ash-fall margins;
Somebody's life in the lost and found.
Breaking news from the hotel vue pointe.
Sinking feeling, sink another beer down.

Hey, jimmy. what you doing here?
Looking up at the high cloud cover, so far and yet so near.

Flying in with the chopper. lieutenant of the crown.
Tell the boys from that cnn, the good cops have come to town.

Angry island, no-one's listening. shamrock villa, green to grey.
Down in the swamp, iguanas glistening.
Toast tomorrow, if not, today.

Hey, jimmy. what you doing here?
You a scientist? you a newsman? or simply come to feel the fear?
The temperature is rising. and we're in too deep.
There really is no point in disguising the hot company we keep.

Night close in on a shanty town.
Panama freighter wearing rusty brown.
She sails tomorrow and she's homeward bound.
Head up on a lumpy sea.

I'm not the only lonely planet rider
In this one horse town, I'm thinking.
And I won't over-rate or patronize you.

I know we're as different as chalk and cheese;
As black hole winters and salad days
And I wouldn't like your mother much anyway.

But it's not her I'm taking home with me.

Don't intend to dress you in silver threads
Like some trophy in sublime seclusion.
Won't try to educate or civilize you.

Night close in on a shanty town.
Panama freighter wearing rusty brown.
She sails tomorrow and she's homeward bound
And you're bound to come home with me.
On the panama freighter with me.

My eyes are white circles above cheekbones on fire:
Pale hand gripping my pen.
Rounding up to the zero, adding infinite fractions,
Letting nine become ten.
Two pink doves strut the shingles
Picking crumbs from the breakfast I saved
For you dear. and I wish you were here
On this postcard day.

Focus on the fine indeterminate line
Where the sky meets the sea.
Desperate midweek words, banal and absurd
Freely flow out of me.
Well, I may be a hostage to summer
But I'm a hostage, not a slave.
And I'm clear that I wish you were here

On this postcard day.

Precious cargo of flotsam: mixed memories on an ocean tide
Swim madly with spice from the orient
On a mystery watery carpet ride.
But with the sun going down, the wind goes around;
Blows them back out of mind.

My eyes are white circles staring down past the point
Of my restless pen.
While the ghosts of my youth all sworn to the truth
Call my name again.
Two brown legs don't make a summer.
But two brown arms couldn't keep me away.
Well, my dear, I wish you were here
On this postcard day.

Dear uncle sold her into the purest kind of slavery.
Hood-eyed little middlemen profited from damaged goods
Along the way.
Good angels brought her back to a last nepal summer.
Debased, hollow-faced, a smile might become her.
Now she's cosied up, cosied up and comforted
In the warm flush of september.
Gone before winter.
Wondering as to might-have-beens.
Somebody's daughter in sanctuary, waiting.

Seen through softer cage of kindness, far and further still away,
From time-warp victorian zoos
Where staring ice cream gameboys play.
Big paws, worn claws and swishing tails.
More damaged goods in the market sales.
Too proud for anger, too late for hate: resigned in dignity.
Gone before winter.
Purring might-have-beens.
Somebody's kitten in sanctuary, waiting.

Somebody near you in sanctuary, waiting.

Cool in the corner, tom cat sitting
on the edge of the yard; sand-flies flitting.
Orange order on a field of green.
Smothers me to smithereens.
Rum and cola, ice cubes crashing.
Jumping beans and brown eyes flashing.
Long hair swinging, tell me how d'you feel?
Well, hot and fancy, it's the habanero reel.

Troubled skin? Pour oil upon it.
She's fit to burn in her new Scotch Bonnet.
Spice up anybody's stew.
Frogs and goats and chickens too.

Barefoot in the sunshine.
Kicking empty beer cans down on the high tide line.
Big wave nearly float your dress away.
And I'm thinking that it's just another day:
just another day.

Feel that hot rush start its tickle.
Sweat is rising, taste buds prickle
with ears of bat and eye of eagle.
It's just as well it's strictly legal.

In all my lives, I never knew anyone like you before.
Woke up one day, swore I heard the sound of heaven knocking on my door.
And after all these years long passing,
Time to reflect, no time for wasting.
Walking down the jasmine corridor.

Reflecting echoes of quiet laughter.

In all my life, I was never better served than I was served by you.
And in my way, hope you agree I tried to serve you too.

Out on the headland I stepped once unsteady.
You there to catch me , I breathe more freely.
Hand in mine down the jasmine corridor.

Through all my life, I chased flitting illusions at a faster pace.
Never stopped to think: the moment was for seizing, had myself to face.
You made my bed to lie in, stately.
Mad cats, grandchildren, here more often lately.
The final view from the jasmine corridor.

Down at the church the flower girl sits. legs innocent, apart.
I make the picture puzzle fit to start your heart.
Painted sister stopped beside. a word upon her saintly lip.
Perhaps admonishing the child inside the open slip.

I don't know where she might go when she runs home at night.
It's for the best: I wouldn't rest when I turned out the light.
No little flower girl singing in my troubled dream----
Just an old man's model in a pose from a magazine.

I have touched that face a dozen times before. and I have let my pencil run.
Laid down washes on a foreign shore, under a hot and foreign sun.
My best sable brushes drift the soft inside of her arm.

Her chin I tilt, her breasts I lift. I mean no harm.

I close the door. she is no more until the next appointed hour.
Northeastern light push back the night: painted promises in store.
No little flower girl singing in my troubled dream----
Just an old man's model in a pose from a magazine.

Down at the church my flower girl sits. legs innocent, apart.
I make the picture puzzle fit to start your heart.
My golden sable brushes drift the soft inside of her arm.
Her chin I tilt, her breasts I lift. I mean no harm.
I mean no harm. I mean

This sparkling wine is all but empty.
Too late for trains and no taxis.
I know the feeling. seems all too contrived.
There was no master plan but the fact is:
You must stay with me and learn the secret language of birds.

A tentative dawn about to be breaking
On a rousseau garden with monkeys in hiding.
The truth of the matter, yet to be spoken
In words on which everything, everything's riding.
Now stay with me and learn the secret language of birds.

Circled by swallows
In a world for the weary.
Courted by warblers; wicked and eloquent trilling.

Lie in the stillness, window cracked open.
Extended moments, hours for the taking.
Careless hair on the pillow, a bold brushstroke.
Painted verse with a chorus in waiting.
Stay with me and learn the secret language of birds.

Crystal fountain springing from the hill.
It irrigates your soul. you may drink your fill.
Water of life, carried high.
One hand upon the gallon jar. feel her fix my eye.

Every good traveller's for the taking.
All good money for the making.

Seller's market: wet appeal.
Water carrier------let's make the deal.

Covered face and black pool eyes.
Between us, no words spoken: no words to the wise.
Here's to another time and a drink somewhere.
Plush on a nain carpet; on a cafe chair.

I count the hours: you count the days.
Together, we count the minutes in this Passion Play.
Walk dusty miles. And I ride that train
on a first class ticket, just to be with you again.

Picking up tired feet. Back from a far horizon.
Cleaned up and brushed down. Dressed to look the part.
Fresh from God's garden, I bring a gift of roses:
To stand in sweet spring water and press them to your heart.

Like the Kipling cat, I walk alone -
Never inviting trouble, never casting the stone.
But this badge of honour is of tarnished tin.
Light your guiding beacon to bring this fisher in.

Stormy-eyed on the edge of dawn:
Nose pressed against the triple glaze.
Floor to ceiling, wall to wall,
Silent traffic streams both ways.
Along the fussy freeway drivers
Dream of sunday barbecues.
Of a sudden, seems I can barely
Face my self: no face to lose.
Call the bosses. call supervisors.
Won't be in today to work for you.

E-mail that girl who's working nights.
She can dress down for this wind and rain.
Leave her new korean compact:
Let some cabbie take the strain.
Take a shower. take big espresso.
Take to the hills, and take a view.
Little black dress stretching over
Hard crystal peaks: soft valleys too.

Call the bosses. call for nurses.
Unfit today to work for you.

No wet excuses. absent without leave.
I'll be her dayshift driver: exotic engineer.

Stormy-eyed on the edge of night:
(december, eastern time: late afternoon.)
Atlantic city tight behind.
Trump casina calls pontoon.
Gristle-burger, frazzled fries
End this romantic interlude.
Tomorrow morning's sweet awakening
Could hardly prove to be as rude.
Make the journey. make amends.
Work some hasty overtime in lieu.

No wet excuses. absent without leave.
I'll be her dayshift driver: exotic engineer.

She's catching the wind: the gentlest of breezes.
It's a sensitive passage she's sailing -
Through stormy straits, navigates my unfathomable failings.

She rises before me, reading me clearly.
Empty nest left pressed in the pillow.
She can shift, she can sway
and bend like a willow.

I'm swept in the riptide, caught in a fish trap.
Gift-wrapped in my soft self centre.
Summer sun leaves me as one who can only taste winter.
She's a good, a good God-send: she can bend like a willow.

With a fully armed angel to cover me quickly.
I'm cool under enemy fire.
If I fall, she can crawl right under the wire.

When I'm caustic and cold, she might dare to be bold -
ease me round to her warm way of thinking:
fill me up from the cup of love that she's drinking.
And I find, given time. I can bend like a willow.
She bends like a willow.

Hand in the snake pit - black mamba chase.
Head through the lion's cage - head on a plate.
Two feet on the hot coals - last dance at the ball.
Blindfold on the tightrope - whenever you call.
Be my slippery slider, Black Mamba crawl over me.

Dark thoughts of the sleepless - hung out to dry.
Slip through the bedclothes - unblinking eye.
Long tongue flickering - fixed stare grip.
Sweet venomous potion, held to my lip.
Be my slippery slider, Black Mamba crawl over me.

A tropical whisper. A sibilant kiss.
Soft strike teasing. Dangerous bliss.

It's a wide world out there
So much wider than imagined
I can't quite put my finger on the pulse
Of your heart softly beating
Just beneath the raw silk sheen
That reflects the tints of autumn from the hills.

So punch my name.
And in case you wonder -
I'll be yours - yours, dot com.

Executive accommodation
Bland but nonetheless appealing
Waiters discretely at your beck and call
Place the tall sun-down potion
Lightly by your velvet elbow
While you compose a message on the wall.

So punch my name.
And in case you wonder -
I'll be yours - yours, dot com.

With your handmade leather valise
Packed and ready, ready waiting
Showered and dressed down lightly for the heat
Gice a clue; leave a kind word
Hint as to a destination
A domain where our cyber-souls might meet.

So punch my name.
And in case you wonder -
I'll be yours - yours, dot com.

Placing people in their dreamscape
with fantasies of foreign fields
Lofty spires all well appointed
In off-season special deals.

To far Alaska: down to Rio in the Carnival
Norwegian fjords in the ever-light of Solstice call

A part of me might travel with you
in a freebie bucket seat for one
Business First - at last, forever
Hopeless thoughts of flying fun

Now get me out of here I cry in air rage psycho-doom
I'm only dream-arranging from the safety of my room

Pick a place or stick a pin in
any corner of the sphere
Post me cards and tell me nicely
Say you wish that I was here

To far Alaska: down to Rio in the Carnival
Norwegian fjords in the ever-light of Solstice call

Hot mango flush.
Ladies with ice cream hair -
Gyroscopic pink neon beams -
Everybody's happy about something.
The crowd moves like a flock of startlings: they
switch direction as one.
Jive on the jukebox - Jack and Joker
split the night air with whoop and holler.
Faint aroma - wood smoke, old fish,
diesel harbour, roadside mongrel,
painted man with buttons barely
holding, bursting belly bulging.
Doe-eyed ragamuffin mumbling -
Scolded for some vague infraction.
Stole a penny candy-coloured
sweetheart kiss down at the market.
Down at the market all the world
seems to simmer:
Hot mango flush.

Hey little buddies:
soft and silky night walkers.
Dangerous species -
Tiptoe menace long grass stalkers
on my bed:
no butter melting in your jaws.
Bonding monster -
Lethal weapon wearing claws.

Let's go out to hunt by numbers.

Tabby, spotted, black as coal -
Serval, Margy, Caracal.
Moggie in the moonlight listens:
whiskered sensory miracle.
Felis, befriend us -
Egyptian Mau - Freya's familiar.
Long in the future -
Cloned disciples, the castle guard.

Now, let's go out and hunt by numbers.

Hot Mango Flush

Kilometers from nowhere on a scented avenue -
Lined with poppy girls.
I didn't stop, stop to say hello.
Curious vendors - waving bric-a-brac -
Looked me over -
Thought it best, best that I should go.

Don't wake me: I'm falling.
Slow spiral into morning.
Who's out there? Can't hear you.
Ears covered - early warning.
Alarm bells ringing.
Time to make my peace with the dreary day.

I waited atbles - I was tipped in roubles.
Wine to water
Was the best that I could do.
Wild office parties split the silence.
Loaves and fishes at an empty table laid for two.

Down the spiral, spinning madly.
Gathering momentum
On a disneyesque adventure ride.
I fly in colours from richer palettes.
Famous artists running scared as worlds collide.

Rusted and ropy.
Dog-eared old copy.
Vintage and classic,
or just plain Jurassic:
all words to describe me.

Relaxed in the knowledge
that happily present
are all things to sustain me,
nurture and claim me:
roll back the mileage.

You have settled beside me.
To the far and the wide of me.
A matter of choosing,
of finding and losing
on the rough ride with me.

Take whisky with water,
kick stones down the gutter.
Think back to long days with
stale breath recycled in my face.
Rattling through airways -
plastic on cold trays.
Watching through windows,
deep landscapes below
await another time and space.

There must come some time
to walk through the night line.
Hands tight: heads high.
These are the dog-ear years.
Don't turn back. Don't linger.
For God's sake keep moving.
Primitive shadows sidle beside.

Wet wind on the sidewalk: I'm staring at the rain.
Walking up the street, yeah, and walking down again.
And my feet are tired and my brain is numb.
See that broken neon sign saying, hey, in you come.

Got the scent of stale beer hanging, hanging round my head.
Old dog in the corner sleeping like he could be dead.
A book of matches and a full ashtray.
Cigarette left smoking its life away.
Another Harry's bar -- or that's the tale they tell.
But Harry's long gone now, and the customers as well.
Me and the dog and the ghost of Harry will make this world turn right.
It'll all turn right.

God's tears on the sidewalk: it's the mother of all rain.
But in the thick blue haze of Harry's, you will feel no pain.
And you will feel no soft hand slipping on your knee.
You don't have to pay for memories, they will all come free.
Another Harry's bar -- or that's the tale they tell.
But Harry's long gone now, and the customers as well.
Me and the dog and the ghost of Harry will make this world turn right.
It'll all turn right.

Now when Harry was a young man, Harry was so debonair.
He walked a bouncy step in his shiny shoes.
And when Harry was a young man, well, Harry could walk on air.
He mixed a mean cocktail and he talked you through the late news.
You want to hear some great news?
Harry's still here.

Wet wind on the sidewalk: I'm still staring at the rain.
Walking up the street, and I'm walking down again.
And my feet are tired and my brain is numb.
See that broken neon sign saying, hey, in you come.

Another Harry's bar -- or that's the tale they tell.
But Harry's long gone now, and the customers as well.
Me and the dog and the ghost of Harry will make this world turn right.
It'll all turn right.

Another Harry's bar.
And another Harry's bar.
And another, and another Harry's bar.

Small child messing down, messing down.
in the streets of Bombay.
Cities like this have no shame, no shame;
indeed, why should they?
Out in the middle distance, several tragedies are playing.
I'm beside myself.

Big sister, can you hear him, can you hear him?
I'm beside myself.
Big sister, can you see him cry, see him cry?
I'm beside myself.
I saw you taking money in the shadows --
in the shadows by the station there.

I'll wish you up a silver train
to carry you to school, bring you home again.
Strip off that work paint and put a cleaner face on.
I'm beside myself.

Hollow faced mother with her babe in arms,
babe in arms-looks through me.
Behind forgotten charms,
forgotten charms to soothe me.
Between the guilt and charity --
I feel the wimp inside of me.

I'm beside myself.
Out in the middle distance, still more tragedies are playing.
I'm beside myself.

I'm so proud of you --
Swimming up from the deep blue.
Which one of me do you run to?
I'm beside myself.

Small child messing down, messing down.
in the streets of Bombay.
Cities like this have no shame, have no shame;
indeed, why should they?
Out in the middle distance, several tragedies are playing.
I'm beside myself.