Places to go when in Cairo
places where I've never been,
not the usual tourist attractions, 
but the hot spots for hot spicy things.

Are the fleshpots still there?
he declared 
with that misogynist air,
are the girls just as nubile?

He was a throwback 
someone we all knew back 
in the day.

Nefertiti would meet me on
the banks of the Nile,
for a while 
in the reeds 
satisfying our needs.

Pyramids built from papyrus 
papering over the cracks.

Just dreaming of dynasties 
and the mysteries of
mankind on the 
riverbanks lined
by age.

Time never sits
always stands
constantly waving its wavering hands
and it brings me relief
also fills me with grief
and a terrible belief that it's waiting for me.

Time has a price
it's not free
wait and see what you pay
for tomorrow
today.

Time will throw you a rope and then hang you with hope
for more time
and time has its laugh it's a gas
until you pass the point where the two hand meet and you meet the great clockmaker who in time is going to take you for a walk.
There is silence in the talk of time, just whispers and you know that time's not mine or yours
a little sign
one little tick a bit of sickness,the thickness of
time catches in your throat and feeling just a little hot
time waits but time is all you've got
and then there is no time at all.

I blame it on the radio,
Hancock and the Navy Lark,
listened to quietly in the dark
but then along came the
TV and Looby Lou crashed right into me as
if she didn't know that she ruined my blame
on the radio show,
now it's 425 lines and the TV Times
and pics that flood over me, it's
like living but being buried alive out at sea.

What can I do but watch ****** Doo
and wish it weren't so, wish
I could blame
the radio.

He wakes and takes a bit of time
to snort a little sweet white line,
left for him by Jackie who
gives him bed and board in Hackney, in
return for dealing dope on the
street they call
no hope.

He stays alive from nine to five by
working at the Superspar
where the metal in the trolley
and the face of Shirl'
the girl who comes in Saturdays,
(quite dolly in a lot of ways)
is far more rigid than he'll ever be.

He thinks about a break for tea but
the clock says only five past three
so
it's time for one more line,
then he looks again at the clock,the time
is five.

He speeds along on the crest of dope
back to the deals he seals,
on the street they call,
no hope,
and
back to Hackney where
he and Jackie,
make the time to slowly
snort
another line.

Caffeine
a pen
I yawn and then
yawn again

nothing flows out except
mothballs

cloth ears they called me
deaf to their pleas
but
I was as different as
chalk is to cheese.

I yawn once more while
weevils bore into my brain
and yawn again.

The snipers have got me
shot me on Monday
sometimes I wish
I was
Solomon
Grundy

then I fall
into the week
because I'm weak
or antique
couldn't hold on to
the
yawn again
dawning on me that
what I see is
what I'll be
by Friday.

Oh Johnie,john,jo
far better the devil you know
than the words that grip and would flow down those avenues
where you could choose to tread upon with winged shoes or fly.

But you are tied to apron strings and this brings me to hereditary chance,
the things that we don't think about
but what makes us, what we're all about.
That little tweak that makes us speak the way we do
and a genetic whirl that makes my eyes so blue
a dance it's true
and we don't even learn a step
we get,
and what we get without a fight,
it is a humbling thought that from nothing,the nought we become the more,
and more than this,
kiss the devil goodbye though he may yet try to deceive you,believe me he's telling you lies,
that's his disguise and a good one too
but you can see through it
it's easy to do it
just open your
eyes.

I need a shift,a move,a lift to lift me out of this,to raise my consciousness and unless I get it and get it quick,I'm going sick,I'm sick of it,it's a crock,a lock me in,a shut me down and shut me up,strap me tight and ***** the night,***** the day and that's the way of it.

I need a lift,need to bridge the rift that's opened up inside of me,the chasm that threatens to swallow up and hide me,
I need a lift.

Failing that
I'm heading back upcountry,leaving all and sundry in my wake,breaking ties,leaving lies as hostages against my non return.

In the heartland where I roam where my solace is a home and where Satyrs sit and sing I shall bring myself to book,take one hard critical look, and then decide if I'll hide in gaping chasms,swallowing in spasms whilst licking tics and twitches from my eyes,or I might surprise you all.
I may take the vow of chastity,live my life in poverty,flagellate in privacy but what the hell,I may just stay and wait to see
what happens
next.

And if I sink,and
sink I must,
in you and you alone
I trust.

I really didn't know her,
the woman who stood there
on the balcony,
calling to me,
Romeo
oh Romeo,
I had to go so I went.
She spent a fortune in words to stall me,
screeched like a fishwife.
I really
don't know life at all.

Somewhere in the fading echoes
as the daylight slows
my eyes will close
upon this scene
as if I'd never been at all.

On tombstones where names flake away
In year books from a yesterday
perhaps an image will remain
to stain your memory.

What price is it that we must pay?
What fee is due?
When you or I take that last look at the Summer sky
and fly off to one more blind fate
the final unknown unkind blind date
Who will wait to etch our passing in the book of time?
Who will catch the echoes that we leave behind?

And should I care?
I was never born,never lived,didn't die
I was not there
it was not me you saw
soaring free.
It was not me
It couldn't be.
How would I give up that which is given freely?
that which I should love so dearly
and so very nearly,
I begin to see
how it could be me
I could be there
could live and die with no one to care and at the fade out
would I still shout
It was not me?

These questions sent to try me
tire me.
The fire that was me if it ever was me
is now the embers in the grate.
The cold hand of that unkind blind date
is reaching out to me.
It cannot see me shake
nor can it feel as my heart breaks and daylight flakes away
into the coldness of the final night.

It might have been me that you saw soaring free
or in the echoes of light smashing into the ground.
Stick around
I'll let you know
but then one day,like me you'll have to go.
Just so you know
if you're looking
I'll be in the garden smelling of roses.

Tempered
like badly heated steel
I feel unfinished
somewhat diminished.

Yet if I like
I can strike and cut
but
it serves me well
to remember
my enemies may meet me in hell
come December.
I lock into the embrace
between the race
Of dragons and slayers
a soothsayer said
'pay no heed to the dead'
I paid no heed to her
no need to share
Scare me with tales
of wailing souls.

Poles apart from the start of it
I break the steel or a part of it
and blame
the blacksmith.

I am freefloating now in the warmth of the waves that will take me somewhere and somehow,
I know this is right.
This is the desert where night rules,where only fools go,there is no map to guide me as I float along gently
being pushed,being pulled.
being lulled by the motion of this,the great ocean and somehow,
I know that one day
I will find the way.

The day knows that as the sun rises and glows,
all deserts will come to an end,
and the night that would send us to sleep reaps no more of the dream where in silent abandon I scream out your name.
She came and she went,spent a little time on the good things,but death brings no joy to the boy who is left on the shore,
raw and unpolished an essay unfinished,a book hardly started,broken hearted.

I am freefloating now in the warmth of the wave and no one can save me,
I am a slave to the will that would will me to go
but I know that one day
I will find the way
back.

Pale blue dress
ginger hair
scarlet bow
red velvet coat
orange socks
yellow shoes,
how to lose
yourself,
in colour.

Somewhere within the levels of the conscious
between the bowels of the deep and
the deepness of my thought
I am caught
in the secrets that I keep
in the darkness of my sleep where
I cry in waterfalls of tears and joy
the unhappiness of fears
employ and use me
in perpetuity,
or so it seems.

These dreams see fit to haunt me
and sleeping draughts have no effect.
This dissatisfaction that I feel
peels away and when the day has come
I wonder
wonder why the sun still lights the sky
and wonder why it does not light my heart.
Do I need to look upon the charted stars up there
to understand myself and know just where and when
I go to then
will that make me a better man
if I learn to understand the master plan
and is there such a map.

Mother says,
'I need a slap to wake me up' but I think that's a fallacy
dreamers like me need no such thing.

Each morning I bring a bucket to the well with wishes in my head
and these are fed up through the day
into my conscious thought
and once again I find I'm caught
my thoughts should pay attention to what is going on
before I even know it
the fleeting hours have run away
and gone.

The night would say,
'it serves you right you've got what you deserve,
I reserve the right to kick against the night
and rest my case.

The jaundiced eyes that yellow skin,
won't someone open up and let me out or let me enter in,
and be frolicsome,indulge in sin.


Time.
The *** bellied pig dancing its jig while my bones start to crumble away,
Come time and lay with me or do you just play with me, is that the game you prefer?
I see you and your hands and those cruel metal bands that you hold
and tell me time if you can,
why make this man old,why can't you stay, the hours of the hours of the day and belay any thought of letting the minutes walk on right through me,
why can't we be friends?

You look at me lovingly while plotting to smother me,why don't you just Mother me,nurse me not curse me,don't bother me
there are so many others to go out and disturb with your hands that perturb and your chimes only chime to mock at my rhymes.
I need more
I need more time
I implore you to hear me,
not sit there and laugh while you hungrily feed on me.

The end.
It will come
just when I started,
Aye,aye just when I began to have fun and the bell of the last round has rung
It's a knock out
a lock out
and try as I might there is no way to continue the fight,the referee has decided that time is the winner by three falls to one
and thus
I am gone.

Not forgotten
I hasten to say,
time laughs and still laughs at me where I would lay
and a long time it will be
I see that as a certainty.
I rest between the pillows of grass,waving willows goodbye,aye and I sigh
as will we all, when time gets through with me and you and wipes her hands clean
meanwhile,
I shall dream of the time when time stops and everything
drops into place.

In my dream I was skiing through the mountains,
I'm free in my dream.
As I was going to St Kitts.

In the wilderness breaking where the mountains are shaking fresh snow from the peaks and the wolves were a crooning hoping soon there'd be food in,
hoping I'd be the meal on their table tonight,
came a light rolling softly through the valley below me and the pass opened through,to a view I would die for.

A lonely chateau stood proudly up on the plateau before me and in the windows I could see, a family at play,where the joy overwhelmed me,took the feet from beneath me and the skis became unnecessary as I floated through air.

Where, in the rules of a dream does it say that I have to return to the light of the day?I wanted so badly to stay,
but the alarm bell from hell set an avalanche flowing and in the flowing of snow across the mountains I go, back
to bed.

Fanfares at the funfair for the children we took there and candy floss crème for the time in-between the dodgems and ducks.

Steinbeck played halfback on the quarterdeck of a cruiser,
not an enviable position, but they enhanced his pay and with two rations of *** every day he didn't really care.

Time jumps about when you're about to get down to the real business of living
I'm about to do that but I can't find the time.

Wild in our childhood we are savaged by our adulthood
what chance to have peace?
there is none.

It's a fashion to be
or it could be it was
I get lost in minutiae
and tend to shy away,
but only
because the side track is
my best side and my best side
is the side track
I'm on.

and anyone can learn how to drive.

I trace my finger lightly down her skin
Wrinkled now,wearing thin.
And mine like leather on the easy chair
Upon which we sit and often share a loving kiss.
I look into her deep brown eyes where a milky cataract avidly vies for her remaining sight..and I see the slight young girl..I saw so many years ago.
Then I know why I love her so.

Together we have grown..known so much joy
Yet I am still a little boy who will run and hide
When she decides to scold and chide.
Then lovingly she gives a hug
A mug of tea
Together we
Go on.

I am the ship that sails upon the silent sea
and you,
the port that waits
for me.

There has to be disharmony said the
man with the harpsichord and the barrel
***** played as the pet monkey swayed and the handle turned back to the start.
In the rush to begin the mad grin of the old man stood out by a mile and the smile on the face of the other in the race was wiped clean by the starter who fired the gun, tunes ran through the long queue of men who smoked pipes like they still were in style and the thrill of the chase was not lost in the pace as the tunes ran on in the night,
in the morning when flagging the tunes started lagging behind, but the monkey being blind saw nothing at all and heard only the barrel ***** grind.
The harpsichord man drew a sword and he ran just a little bit faster that day,
no monkey
no sway
no *****
no grind
no body to find,
disharmony wins the day.

A thousand unclimbed chimneys but the soot lay heavy on his half starved frame,
and the woman,a name he could not pronounce waited in the darkened street to pounce upon unwary boys and men,
and then the clinging of the silt at low tide on the Thames, where the lens of greedy eyes would spy out,hear the cry out of the mudlarks
but no larking there.
The gears that grind and inner wheels that wind.

Northern towns do not exist
they're just a story that persists in our collective memory,
a nightmare that we waken from.
These mill town dressing gown like nursery rhymes
designed to make us think we live in better times,
wrapped us up in cotton wool.
Until
we were just as full of fear and fantasy
as our collective memory.

Industrialisation was the sow that suckled pigs,
look at them now,
Swines
don't talk to me of better times
don't talk to me at all.

She
knew it too,
saw through me and saw what I could be,
read me like a book but all the same she took the time to try to understand what made me tick.
She
was quick off the mark,
cut like a beam of light into the dark that I knew and now she knew me too,
and she whittled me away,stole into the start of each day and made it brand new,I knew then what to do,
but she always knew,
and now we are two,one upon one going on and knowing as we go along that things are as good as they get.

Yet they get better,each word that I speak,each letter I build in a sentence that's filled with her name on my lips and each breath that I take,
she takes me away,makes it all feel okay, as she steals into my life at the start of each day.
She knew that too and now,
so do I.

Part one done

adverts on now

waiting for part two

I could, of course, do the Lambeth Walk
two steps,
quick steps,
lick my wounds and come out fighting.
If,
I get the backlighting right, but
on the stage age is no barrier
to foolishness.

I waltz with giraffes which get
a few laughs and
inside me
the hyena dies slow.

The show must go on and so
into the spot,
lit up and shot dead
well read by the audience,
another poor performance but
I could always of course, do
the Lambeth walk.

It was a gin house in Limehouse
a fine house
to dine in.
But long before then it was an ***** den
where the 'Gents' from the city
came to look at girls
who once,
were quite pretty
that was a long time ago.

Now it's an inn
and the in place to be.
Once where dragons roamed free in the heart of the East End
People now spend  a drink or two
allowing the theatre queue
to go down.

The town's not the same
all the music halls have closed
and the dreams that were posed on the pages of magazines
are just scenes I remember from childhood.
Maybe that's a good thing and perhaps it is not
Perhaps it's a sign of the times that we've got,
when we had ****** all
it was the music halls that enthralled us
that mixture of melody and comedy,
tragedy and look at me
harking back to those
'good old days'

It pays to recall the gin house down Limehouse
and the Ladies who knew nothing else
but the dragons who perched on the end of a pipe
or else I'd think it okay
to think in the old way.
Which is not the in place
to be.

I walked into her breakdown and all broken up she said,
"You've got to help me stamp out all the demons in my head"
I couldn't help myself and so I knew my use to her, was similar to a drowning man grasping at thin air.
She screamed and then went silent as I opened up my eyes.
I waded through her temperament and shovelled up her sighs.
I watched as she exploded in to frothy foaming seas and then I knew that I could do just exactly as I pleased.
The night fell out from its sunken lie
The seas ran red with ruby wine and then they all ran dry
I swear I saw Emmanuel break dancing in the sky..
But all I heard was the howling wind and her pleading plaintive cry.

The day tripped up as we all tripped on
The morning came and then was gone
We never knew when or just how long
We'd have to wait for the evensong.

So when we packed the cases and we sped out in the rain
The falling sun crashed down to earth causing us some pain
We had to lay in the sandy bay,prisoners on the Spanish main
But that's the way we did it and we'd do it all again.

She was the whirler of webs that held me close to her breast
and what I liked the best
was the look in her eye
that told me untruths but I didn't cry
as her fingernails etched her pain down my back
I went back again for more and yes, she
she was the most adorable being
seeing how cruel she could be.

She was the speeding car that knocked me over
the honey bee wrapped in soft silken clover
and I stood there baring my chest willing the car to come, do its best
I'm not sure if she did
she had hidden her heart from me
and only let me see what she wanted me to see
which could be distressing
like ******* in the dark
not holding hands in the park
little things which mean a lot.

She was the car in the parking lot
ignition switched off
engine cold
At times she raced
I paced myself but she knew I was caught in her headlights
those hot nights
trapped all the same with no choice
I was lost,
but loved playing the game.

One the web was begun
and spun
around my days and nights
I couldn't sleep
couldn't keep still
enslaved to her will
I will die with her name on my lips
she won't even know
she has forgotten it was so long ago
did honey ever taste as sweet?

Locked in a Minotaur mode
bull head and key code
hauling the overload
getting down to some serious
business
on the B road.

eating the miles and
watching the dials
before eternity gets me.

The china shop beckons
but
my heart isn't in it

a new start
a new day
a hundred ways to say it
and
only one way to do it
the
right end of the night's end
and
the sunlight for the off ramp.

Five parts determination
four parts application
three parts perspiration
two parts supplication
one part trepidation.

Fifteen parts of adoration.

Eyes glowing
fast flowing
mind blowing
body ageing
brain slowing
tougher thinking
interlinking
water drinking
meat eating
time beating
me down.

Restless in her sleep she wrestles me, in dreaming deep of what is and what is to be, she takes hold, I see her fingers white and clenched, drenched with sweat,
and cool her brow, wonder how she has the strength to fight.
This night is like the other nights when we have fights and in spite of that the night is always spectacular for me,
in her dreams I can be her superman, not the 'desperate dan' I really am,
in her dreams I fly to her, take her where she wants to be,
she wants to be with me.

Then she wakes and wonders why, the tears I cry for her and I would die for her,
and tonight she will wrestle me and I will nestle close,
and close the light out
one more night bout.

Criss crossing the magnetics where
the politics are poles apart,
the blues and reds share each others beds and
shed their skins like snakes.It
takes some special breed of man to plan
the downfall of another,
can you believe you voted this lot in?
What a shower of **** they've been and
the other lot,
I'd get shot of them,
Ed Miliband and his merry men.


What we need is a party to lead
from the front not the back but what we
get is an attack on the welfare system by
the men of the ministry, and
that lot will finish me.
I wish they'd
bury me deep and keep me away from the
******* of politics they spew out today. but
the ministry men will have me down the crem',
cheap *******.

Born and bred into poverty to
end their days confined in the Marshalsea,
in debt for a penny
to the Aristocracy, who
with
Jeweled eyes were unable to see
the poor people
living in poverty.

With silver and gold, they paved streets so we're told
olde England with
riches
overflowed,
not that you'd know it amid the tanneries and
horse ****,
but that's just the way
the thing goes.

Among the harlots and ****** who scoured the shores
of the river when the tide was in ebb, were
the living though dying,
the failures and those trying to survive and
Dickens picked stories from the dead eyes
of Shoreditch in the 'jago' where they go
and he went.


In The 'mansion house' the banquet goes on for
the sightless unseeing but I am already
fed up.

Dinner by candlelight
because the power was cut,

we could have gone skating
but the ice was too thin
so
on a show of hands
we decided to stay in.

and now it's this morning
which it wasn't last night,

oh
and it's Wednesday too,
just got to get through this
but
must go to the bathroom
and have a wash
first.

Her eyes a steelyard grey,watched me in the bar today,saw me drink,made me think there'd be hell to pay if I said hello and offered to buy her a bourbon or rye and then she swaggered up to me and said,'anytime you're free hunk, you're welcome to take a chunk ,a slice,I'm nice, of me,be my guest and don't be shy,you're not shy are you guy?'

I left rapido, head held real low and ears turned red by other things the steelyard grey eyed woman said.
I'm not a ***** but she was downright rotten rude and anyway what would my mam say,if I took a girl like that to Mothers flat for tea?

She'd say,
I'm mad,that girl is bad, best get shot of that bad lot and there's not a lot that I can say
except she was kind of **** in a steelyard grey way.

I can be an angel with my wings alight with fire
take flight and sing as part of one large
flaming choir, or I could be
the depths you want to see
as you look into the ocean,do
you want me to become
the fun in the fun house,the titmouse that makes you squeal,the breath on your lips that make you feel so very, very nice or the unaffordable price that I won't make you pay and
the heat of your day turned into the spice of my night
the shade on the lamp light or the shadow you find as you tune slowly in to what's going on in my mind?

Would it bother you to know that I'm as slow as a snail
would you sail as quickly to this dangerous shore
and be grounded,
though not wrecked as I want more and more of you? do
you think when you sink into sleep that the angel with the wings on fire is there just for the heavenly choir and not for you
did you never believe that your dreams would come true
and if they could would you be
as happy as me
when I'm watching you sleep as I stand guard and keep
the nightmares away?

Sail quickly into this bay
let us lay down and die while our cries fade away
making love in the forenoon
what a wonderful way
what a day to begin.

I am the slave of desire
take hold of my wings and put out this fire that drenches me,quench my thirst,burst me apart and then look into my heart and what do
you feel as I peel off my skin layer by layer
will you say a prayer as we enter?
The pupil and the mentor and which is which but one and the same and oh what lessons to make games from.

The bomb explodes
the fires die down
I open these eyes that have seen so much more than the breakfasts of dreams in a bowl,
upturned and empty on the cold bedroom floor
I want some law to be enacted that would stop these distractions that brings mornings to life and send eyes open wide, where once again I'm beside myself with the passion of loss.

As I burn so I learn and I feel the need to read between the lines, which are the scratches upon the faces from some other times
or lines of other rhymes we have read and lost or ****** away into the bottom drawer.
There has to be more than I see
more than me
more than we or what we become
more fun as we squeal and we feel what we are
something that lies somewhere behind the distance of the distant star
or another bar on the fruit machine
that bandit we see but have never seen
let me think on, and in dreams I'll belong
to the truth of the night
with fiery wings I'll take flight and we'll
start all over again.

In the solution
am I
the strength of the mixture
or
just the dilution?
Does osmosis occur
even
when I'm not there?

questions to take me to task,
I ask
anyway.

So this is what its come to, a barm cake and a bun or two, a poor man who can't afford the 'flu and sits in heavy coat and sweater to get a little heat,it gets better,
A candle burns under my bed,the blanket's on but the electrics gone and its getting ****** cold,the candle light takes hold and flames appear,which is the only flaming light in here and the gas is going too,no porridge tomorrow unless I can borrow a couple of quid.

If only I could rid myself of poverty and be like those other folks I see who live in financial security,
and what's the use it'll never happen to me.
I'll be poor of that I'm sure until the day I die and then I'll be poor a little more when they put me six foot underfloor
but at least I'll be warm with all my friends who congregate where this life ends and have a jar or two,sod the cold and sod the 'flu and sod the ****** rich folk too.
I will pull through to the other side
I will find a star and hitch a ride or climb up the ladder and slide down a snake,either way the choices that I make are mine and mine alone and if I have no home,no candle light or mobile phone,you'll find me in the park,in the dark
talking to myself.

In frustration
he sat down on the bench outside the closed down railway station
and wrote of his dissention.
But in a moment that was lit by pure genius and invention
He decided there and then
to make a statement of his intention.
In fits and starts he penned those parts
that appealed to his sense of duty
but true to form
and as sure as I was born on a
Wednesday
I knew there was no way
the statement would ever be made.
This case is laid to rest.

A stocktaker takes no stock
A paradox?
Point duty can be blunt
when hiding or when on the hunt
but shunting these random thoughts aside
I train myself to pay attention
to the statement that
details tales of an unpaid rental.
But no mention of me being mental or unsound.
No sanitoriums for me
or phychopaths that come for tea.
Just peace
and the bobbing of a broken time that floats in brine
a hat that doesn't fit my head
a statement that I've never read
intentions that I never made
not laid to rest at all
but instant recall is what sets me apart and makes me the best.
Test me
Test me
Testing, testing two three
Just checking in
To check that you've been
listening.

I am Canada goose,
flying low,
hanging loose
with the flock.
I am Iroquois,
Panama,
hats off to
what you are,
hang loose with the pack and
we'll all make it back,
someday.

Grandad did keep a pig and chickens also a monkey which was either sat on his shoulder or up on the clothes rack which was set high up in the kitchen..sometimes we would unfasten the rope that tied the rack, and did that monkey chatter as it fell towards the kitchen table..happy days.

My Grandad kept in the back garden ,a big fat rosy coloured pig.
Not the one that did a jig
but another
which was certainly a smelly thing.
Granpa would bring it bits and bobs and the pig would grunt in its approval
until the day came for the pig's removal.
It ended up in 16 dinner bowls and on one big serving plate.
I have to say pig tasted great with apple sauce
But of course
I miss him all the same.

The streets became the targets
targeted by meaner men
and women too,
in march across the capital
making capital of
circumstance.
Which would dance around the pole now that May has gone?
who are these devils in disguise who seek to tell the ignorant and uninterested lies
and lies they tell
that sell their ideology
to you
not me
for I can see them in the power zone if what they want to call their home
but home for them will never be
the homeland of democracy.
People see it every day attacks against the homeless,gay and any other sort whose parents once set sail from some distant sunlit port to find a better way
and life would only have it
that these devils want to take a bit away from them
these meaner men and women too
would take it all away from you
so watch your back
they don't care when
or how they attack
but it's usually in packs like cowards do.
I'm watching them
are you?

No escape
you
either love or
we hate.

It's all so nice and clean and bright
they've even tarted up the night
how wonderful it is to be
a part of this
machinery.

I'm going to do my best for them
pay off my debts to faceless men
work my life in penury
a part of this
machinery.

and just before I die
I'll really
really try
to clock off

wouldn't want the miserable ***** to pay me overtime when my time's done
would I?

Imaginative energy flows in, around, then out of me and I can see in it the key that opens up the world for me.
Clouds of pirates floating by are dressed as clouds up in the sky, firing catapults of fun filled with laughter at the sun.
Daisies growing in the field for bumble bees to land and steal, then take their ***** home to be, made into honey cakes for me.
Imaginative energy the magic all around with me and if your eyes are open wide, come in and join me on the ride.

I'm doing 380's
degree by degree all I can see
are B52's
rear gunners, point takers and what does that make us
barbarians?
the new cowboys and Indians?

Time frame,
it's an old game in a strange place with a new face that looks down the sights and yet the stars still shine.
What's mine is mine and I'm taking yours, that's mine too
rear view gunning and
point takers running the show but where do we go from here?

We're going to bomb today to the middle of next year,
it'll be different then,
we'll all be older and wiser men and yet,
Big Ben,
News at Ten
and the stars still shine.

Everything changes but stays the same,
time frame
time again,
armaments
arguments
distilling some truth 'til we dispel all the lies and in the eyes of the cat who
has seen all o' that
nothing amuses him more than the ground that he's walked over before
and
degree by degree all that I see
are the B52's
and yet
the stars still shine.

Once more into the pews I snore
the vicar reads what he's prepared and doth sermonise on those who dared to sleep while he was spouting verbs.
If God has seen me, he'll know how keen I am to come to church and listen to a boring man,
I'd just as soon eat all my toes and this I'm sure God also knows,
but
into every life the sun must shine,it's Sunday so I should not whine but stay awake and take my medicine like a man.
Another plan and one more prayer,another layer to oxidise,to find the truth between the lies,here's hoping that my eyes stay open.
So,dear
God,please bless the Pope,palmolive soap,Rogers rangers,total strangers and all who sail at sea and if you have some blessings left send some of them to me.

They'll hold a referendum on the poor and where to send them,
will you vote?

Some say rend them unto Caesar, put them on a train to Piza, but they say that just to please ya, it's a problem don't ya know.

And there are others with dark hearts,
they're not my brothers
who say work them unto death.

Share and share alike and if ya don't then take a hike,
you've got more than plenty there
why won't you share?

It reaches a crescendo when the lights go off in Harlow and the gas goes down in Hartlepool and the baby needs a feed,
so we feed them on false hope and the drugs we stole from several wars and tell them it's the dope and
will you vote?

Call it violation,
call it at the voting station
this is not the once great nation
if it ever was at all.

Bill and Ben are off their heads again,smoking **** because they need that little **** ain't life a joke,
Bill and Ben can't remember when or if they can they can't be arsed until the dope becomes so scarce, and they know that's there's nothing worse than
Bill and Ben,
no joint for them
poor blokes they got no smokes and nothing which to stoke the fire that burns their eyes and gets them higher.
Bill and Ben
are bored and boring men,they got a job,oh flobalob,
Bill and Ben.

If we vibrate and we move in the frequency,
of the universe there is no secrecy,
to the wavelengths
we swim along hopefully
meeting vibrations besides, that dive deeply
inside of we
Vibrating in synchro simplicity.

I have never understood a blue rhapsody when the colour's as good as the symphony and the orchestra, thinking, agrees with me as we move deeper and vibe in the frequency.

In the palm of the universe
we could be,
making love to the music
if we could see,
where the universe ends and the frequency starts
and the joining of letters spell out the two hearts,
in the palm of the universe,
frequency.

'let's skin up a spliff', said Joe, as he sniffs up the last of the coke,
'Okey dokey', says Fred.already out of his head on the ketamine cocktail,
'Sue wants some too', said Sue from the floor who'd had a bit more than Joe.
That's how the day goes with the highs and the lows when you're blowing your mind, and it's a bind doing much when you're so out of touch,so you sniff a bit more and join Sue on the floor,
then
skin up a spliff.