Augie March

The golden sun is ever gentle in the Valley of Making,
Where it's the middle of the Autumn when it isn't high Spring,
There are men of many colors and women of all races
wearing white, white linen
and smiles on their faces -

Blue rose...

There are roses round the edges of the grand property,
The words "Labor, Ardor, Langdor" are its lovely trinity,
And when you see just how they dress and how they speak and act too,
Well all you'll want to do is dress up in their white linen too -

Blue rose and drew the curtain back on the morning...

And you said holly-hey, and with a teary tilt
for you were rudely made, and shoddy built,
Between the thumb and the forefinger,
Barefoot pressed, he hoists his trouser leg,
She lifts her dress.

O these men of many colors in their creamy white suits,
With their different colored hands dig in the soil for their roots
of the dreamy conversation that the slender women make
as they sip from slender glasses by the vineyard lake -

Blue rose and drew the curtain back on the morning,
Blue rose and every little thing was gilt and suffering no more...

If you could see the people laughing and not here the sound it makes
then you could keep the good opinion that the tone of voice takes,
If you could see the people laughing and not here the sound it makes ? it goes...

There's a woman there among them who with red, red eyes
Says you haven't been a'working hard enough on your lies,
The golden sun is ever gentle and one lie follows another in,
The only way to get there is by singing brother, singing,
There are women of all races, men in white, white linen
and the only way to get there is to sing sister, sing sister, sing -

and draw the curtain back on the morning,
Blue rose and every little thing was gilt and suffering no more,
Blue rose and drew the curtain back on the morning...

Where the wars were not for wearing,
the ghettoes never got,
To each lonely, lonely person their own shovel, their own plot.
Have you ever heard a rattle way on down when people sigh,
Way on down the silly rattle says you're happy when you die

We will adjust to this new condition of living like a man with his entrails now out him not in
After certain techniques of torture accustoms himself to a new condition of living...train.
Thoughtful godless men find god in them at the age of twenty-five
but in a year death gains favor and they think themselves the more alive,
You'll find them in the loose caboose where the pills are kept and the stupid juice,
This one has a sleeping wheel, this one has a willing noose
- Onward and on to the ends of love, pricked vanity, habit and ruse.
Onward and on to a premature silence where death finds too much use.

Fifteen year old whores in training, eyes a'batting, arms a'flailing, skin aflame, this fire-fanning express,
If you're on board amazement follows fear and rounded by dismay
it takes the corner into the day after today which is a father's sorrow
- Onward and on to the ends of meanness where kindness is the means of the earth.
Onward and on, awakening finds us too sensual beings from birth -
("I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry lady, I am sorry, I'm sorry lady...I'm sorry")...train.

Pods of wealthy blonde gobbets with red-rind eyes
getting pecked at by the heroin sparrows of the western skies,
It may be married to the tracks but this train flies and it's taking no passengers.
"We'll stand on his hand, that's how you pin your man, we'll smash him from Preston to Epworth!"
Onward and on to the ends of reason where malice is the means of the earth.
Onward and on, this strange-wrought bird, onwards and over the black coffee earth,
Onward and on, this laughing train to the ends of its low, low mirth...

Where the media make it with the media whores,
Lady Time minces man-meat with her contract claws
for a barbecue with the veterans of the talkback wars
in the outback palace...of one John Laws.

O we will adjust to this new condition of living
like a sailor with his hands tied behind his back
imprisoned after sailing into foreign waters, unawares,
accustoms himself to a new condition of living.
But a shadow falls between this hurtling intent and its realisation
for its government is rotten and therefore its civilisation
which is certainly taking no passengers...train...

Well it's my very little wonder and it's one that I will keep,
But you can take it with you if it helps you when you're trying to sleep...
and the men who are a cut above today are often not so very deep.
Young ladies of means will say "I am, I am, I am, I am, I am",
Sitting on the edges of their seats on the light rail tram,
amongst the could-a-beens, the also-rans -

It's very little wonder if you cry,
It's very little wonder you don't cry,
The birds were framed, the babies were framed, and so too the black sky.

You can't hear the ready laughter in my song,
When I was laughing all day yesterday and all night long,
till we shook off the fears, and had us both in tears,
O brother don't clean out your ears and you might be amazed
to find the secrets of the city in its alley ways,
In the bins behind the swill cafes,
amid the clean-picked chicken bones and cartilage a spirit groans,
a small heart beats and a red beak groans
"O pity, where's my little body gone?"

You'll know why, it's very little wonder you don't cry,
Don't be ashamed of a guilty little rain, and don't be ashamed,
it's just the drink, it's just the drink, it's just the drink.

One marks a place, one makes a time,
One stops a'living, one goes about a'dying...

Somebody blew their brains out in this room,
I can feel it like it happened just this afternoon,
On the wall behind some furniture there's a stain in the shape of Africa,
O fear walks tall, when it's halfway up the hill with its friend alcohol.
I could hear the heavy footsteps in his hollow halls,
Little wonder that he soon devised to rid them all in one great gushing fall,
The billion tiny devil's feet that nightly walked that bloody beat

- Hi ho, ho hum, Get yourself a gun,
Open up your heart and let the bleeders run,
Hi ho, ho hum, Move the thing along,
Open up your heart and let the evening come,
Hi ho, ho hum, Get yourself a gun,
Open up your heart and let the bleeders run,
Hi ho, ho hum, Think about your mum,
Open up your heart and let the evening come darkly in.

Well it tastes like a Sunday,
There should be music in the front room,
and the markets a'milling with the people in the afternoon.
And there's a question to be asked if you're drinking alone,
It's what horse were you thrown from which riderless goes on?

O it must have been a near thing,
But no novelty to you,
all the trains and the buses and the cinemas too,
Breaking down, the bloody town, all reared up like a snake,
For goodness sake don't touch it or you'll never wake up...

His father misses him, His mother misses him,
His lady dreams of kissing him,
Bring the sun back, Bring the sun back,
It's been dark, now it's cold,
When the night falls, Bring the sun back, Bring the sun back,
It's a blackbird, he's in the belly.

Well it's cold, it's cold, it's cold and it's cold,
But you've a roof over your head and a comfortable bed,
Now I'll better, I'll be true, doing things like I ought to,
If this bird lands in the black lands of Tulla when it's due...

His father misses him, His mother misses him,
His lady dreams of kissing him,
Bring the sun back, Bring the sun back,
It's been dark, now it's cold,
When the night falls,
Bring the sun back, Bring the sun back,
It's a blackbird, he's in the belly,
It's a blackbird, he's in the belly,
The night's a blackbird, We're in the belly.

In the chest of a dealer hammers and smelts a foul charge,
as he smoothes sour cream from his moll's pony and metes her an unholy barrage, (o the living is hard).
Of a rank Summer Saturday here, drunk on domestic beer,
the burnt English girls bray like mares, the men leer like snakes...

O there's no faith in this article baby, no truth and no lie lie lie lie,
I woke up one morning and it lay there beside me, it wasn't for me to ask why,
But to reason with a dry mouth and a half-open eye some people weren't born to dance,
While others are halted mid-step to the beat of a song in the key of chance.

Make one sickening body, born of a base urge and a high mind,
and make it swing like a witch...

Wealthy young men, hale tall timber, who dally in the Springtime then steady in the Winter,
While over the river, with needles for teeth, the spindle and stick men, apportioned a grief,
take to drink and drown...drown...
O the stories I love, and the stories I hate.

The city horses are tired, give them something to drink,
Take the weight of the wagon from off of their shoulders and the iron from their feet.
At the top of the morning, top top top of the street,
Is a look when you look look look look into somebody's eyes and you meet,
Is a look when you look look look look into somebody's eyes,
and you know that they'd just as soon kill you as smile

There's no faith in this article baby, no truth and lie lie lie lie,
I woke up one morning and it lay there beside me, it wasn't for me to ask why,
But to reason with a dry mouth and a half-open eye some people weren't born to dance,
While others are halted mid-step to the beat of a song in the key of chance.

There's something at the bottom of the black pool,
I daren't dredge it up not while the weather's still cool,
It's a feathered thing, its origins are mixed and untrue,
Once a straw-body, now a lamb-picker, now a clove in a black brew...
I think of the peacocks of the gorge and I think of the gryphons they kept in the Tower Zoo,
The unexpected water swept all before it
as it rushed on terrible through -

And left them all dead, and spread through the park,
amid the myriad mangles of the coming dark -
of the shadow of a loon, the howl from a bloody craw,
Those strange interruptions don't scare me anymore,
Since all the while the weather was cool I stood at the crumbling edge of the black pool.

Perhaps a pigeon fell off its stool,
I have drowned a conscience or two,
There are palm trees and clouds and the under-sides of drowned blues,
and sometimes the faces of people I think I knew...
I know at one time this thing flew,
I have sunk an ambition or two,
Now when I think to drink, then I wonder with who,
I pretend that I'm sitting in the booth with you -

O what a fuckin' sentence, what a fuckin' noise,
I don't know these girls, I don't trust these boys,
And over there in the corner, there hangs a strange bird,
Sings a strange song but it won't be heard,
A song to enquire whither went the milk money
While the darling babes of Toorak were a'yowling for their honey.

Let's walk up this hill, let's go walking up this hill,
The sun is in the middle of the sky, the grass is yellow from being dry,
There's music, there's you, many others here and I,
Up the hill then, up where those holy lodestones lie -

How suddenly still, and though the wind blow,
From here we will never leave or go,
And but for a will, and but for companions,
we might go tumbling home below,
To a place at the table, to gamble and settle,
make the words "amiable" and "able"
of resting assured, in the breast of that bird,
that I sure did not suffer a fool,
Since all the while the weather was cool I stood at the crumbling edge of the black pool.

A Tuesday night in Winter, holed up in the city of ravens,
The owls in the hills hoo-hooing and eyeing off the field mice down in the cold grey centre,
Addle Brains lining up with the dead for the soup spoon,
Addle Brains and the legions of the passed for the bread bag,
Ladle the soup, pass the rolls,
Addle Brains and the many not here and loose souls.

One might fly off to the blank heavens and the lead high halls,
O the hungry sky aches for blokes without folks and bulges with the bearers of palls.
Addle Brains would drink for four days and no eats,
and sleep in the glens of botanical parks, and on the humped bus shelter seats,
Where it's cold, where it's cold.

One morning I woke up in a room in the nation's heart,
and couldn't think for the life of me what I was doing, or where to start,
or what rehearsal was required, I was so sad and tired.

What does a bird want with money?
Was he made this way?
Do you have to earn the right to find all of this funny?
Nothing's funny today.

Addle Brains mixes his powders with his fateful blues,
and the wide-eyed bubs of the Parliament couldn't give a hoot, or even two.
All it takes, it takes, is a kind look and a word, a word,
Some pretty eyes and skin, from your fine family you were given to win,
and spill it over into the basin of common sin,
just a drop, a drop of the stuff that makes us kin
- Addle Brains perching way out on a limb.

What's wrong, sad Prince?
The body is soft, the heart is cold,
You were tongue-in' for danger, but danger bites back,
It only lays down for the reckless and you weren't never bold

- Think of all you'd never do...
Now it sits next to you on the bus, it joins you in the elevator,
Nothing good is kept for later,
You should never have let it through to the Keepa.

In old Brazil there is a breach upon the earth they call "The Sigh",
where the gods all hang their washing out to dry,
where strange birds fly, and giants go to die,
I heard you went there for the quiet,
Well I wasn't asking why

- It was all that you could do...
Now it sits next to you on the bus, it joins you in the elevator,
Nothing good is kept for later,
You should never have let it through to the Keepa.

In the afternoon a weary sun beats a pallor too soon
about the broken tooth hell-mouth of your room,
You slide into a sleep, O to dreaming of a sweet talk,
To wilt beneath a whisper - "No regrets sad Prince"

- Not for all you'll never do...
Now it sits next to you on the bus, it joins you in the elevator,
Nothing good is kept for later,
You should never have let it through to the Keepa.

Well our dogs get along, but have you noticed how easy
evil dialogues of ours come out of wanting,
for so long, an easy laughter, to feel guilty for some -

Throw us in the oven where the angels fly,
They still need to eat
She's clean, she keeps a clean house, she can cook alright,
But I no longer have meat

In the middle of the field at the height of the eclipse,
when all that we could see were the fiery whips
of that hot-headed god, hot-headed god and wild,
perpetually running from his wife and child

- I was born in the bottom of a boat,
Of glass between the sea and me
Upward from the floor they'd float,
Bodies from the drowning dream

What do you make in the furnace of your chest?
The same as she makes in the locket of her breast.
Here's where the buds in the coal-chocked tomb go hard,
clear and deadly and never ever bloom

- There were fifty-four people in the back of a truck,
They were only sleeping
When we come to pick them up,
Safe within our keeping

Sixty-eight bullets for my wife and I,
They will never be satisfied
Strength and purpose fringed by fire,
Fire I was born in the bottom of a boat,
Of glass between the sea and me
Upward from the floor they'd float,
Bodies from the drowning dream.

O fraudulent mirror, O rank rainbow toad,
I'd break apart too, if I knowed what you knowed,
I'd fall from the wall, I'd leap from the road,
You take cover in the clover, you don't shoulder the load.

Wagner and wife, drama and strife,
Their syphilitic friend Dionysus is wise not to ask "Where's Sunstroke House?"
Where's a crow on the far fence?
Where's a mill by the pond?

Pale with horror I saw you when your bird flew,
Now who in the whole low world has been kind to you,
Save for a kindly, ugly few?
Don't read it, don't watch it, don't do what they do.

From the wind in the Winter, no mercy, no quarter,
From the Summer no mercy, and little goes well,
That's where you'll live, that's where you'll live,
Till a gale rips ya sail, till a will kills ya mill...

Where have you been, my heat, my shadow?
How well did you like the song?
I filled it so full of nonsense and unrule
you feel like there's something forgotten or fell.

Pale with horror I saw you when your bird flew,
Now who in the whole low world has been kind to you,
Save for a kindly, ugly few?
Don't read it, don't watch it, don't do what they do.

Pink lipped bub, golden haired sitting,
Portraits of withering roots -
Pretty diversions, pointless excursions, pleasant distractions,
Underground mutes.

You don't keep me company,
You all turn out wrong,
If you are my daughters, if you are my sons,
I can only hold you inside for so long,
O song, did I lead you on?

If you are my love, well love what's wrong?
You don't keep me company for near enough long,
I can't feel or touch you, or hold you for long,
O song, are you leading me on?

Friends come in time, and then they are gone,
I know what it's like to be floating along
Without a warm body to heap your cares on,
O on and into the night.

For I have been bad now for twenty years long,
For centuries you have been pure and strong,
If you thought me a good place to stay you were wrong,
O song, did I lead you on?