You can choo cha, doo da, hula with a hoopla,
It's all an oil on canvas by the man that they call Dali and you go sail away like Raleigh with the Queen and off to Bali, but your Sheila and the Children wait for you in
Basildon.

It never makes a rhyme when you ******* every time that the debts start mounting up and it shows in the starved faces of the cold and golden places in the eyes and on the lips you leave behind.

You,
the star now
going far now
and forgetting who you were,
are you aware in some false state that this love can turn to hate?
are you bound so tightly to the dream, does it make you happy, can you hear the scream of fate?

The kids are still in Basildon
but Sheila met a soldier boy and moved away to Warrington, long gone the Queen and dream
you're getting old, can't hula hoop, but you seen it all and now you fall into a reverie.

With Dali
and
a cup of tea.

Crash and burn is good,
return to crash and burn like firewood.

I am kindling to the fires of the charlatans and liars,
likely a moth attracted by the roar of flames.

Any names that you could call me have been often named before by the crash and the burn which I have come to adore.

At the end in the ash where the burning is the crash and the fire wood turns back in on itself,
I am left alone to ponder in the wandering of smoke and wonder if the flames will ever come again.

If I did believe in karma or a charm to grant longevity I'm sure I'd feel much calmer as the years are rolled from under me, but that's not crash and burn or bread and butter, wait, return the life that's owed to me and let me cut a little honesty and crash to burn again.

In the grooves where sounds collect dust, there's a just a minute before you must and you spin it and it turns on the table real clean.

Music's been good to me through my adversity, lyrics to challenge me at every turn.

But the table still tortures me when deep in the mortuary where the silence plays loud on my nerves.

Cash me a coupon,
it's cold,
I need some soup in my thermos,
I won't make it through unless you do this favour for me,
He told me,
The coupon's done, out of date but not by long
So I went home and hungered for sustenance.

Providence pats me and cuts me a slice of tomorrow, sleep is the main meal in everyone's eyes
I wake to a giro from
the ministry, a
man called Tom and he sends me his
kind regards.

Pardon me waitress can I have more servings of pancakes,
hunger takes more than I know and then I settle down, can't afford to go to town and I cut more coupons from magazines.

Gun sight and cordite
hot dang,
boom bang
pistols at dawn, all
echoes from before
I was born.

In the Wild West untamed
well named,
staking claims
California
meeting dames,
sarsaparilla,
only one of them
will **** ya.

Gun sight and boot hill,
Tombstone
where they ****
bad men
and
preachers.

Feeling her fingertips,
I fall like
casino chips,
love is the contract we make.

The wheel that we spin
win or lose
always stops at the person
we choose.

Eyes shine like stars in
the theatre bars,
at the interval
time for a gin.

It feels like a win,
feeling her fingertips,
falling casino chips
fall as they will.

Alarm bells ring
are you listening?
the policemen come and
catch someone *******.
It's Saturday night
the beer was alright
walking through the
West End wonderland.

In the doorway,
there's a stranger sleeping,
toes are peeping out from his old shoes,
a card that says he's homeless and he's hungry
he's just another person to abuse.

...chorus.

I am torn

between cookies and cream

or raisin and ***

   you have plumped
   for a vivid blue creation

it’s bubblegum
   you say

as it begins to
drip

   down your fingers

and I’m dawdling

so it’s raisin and *** then

two magnolia spheres
   glittering in the sun

and we walk down the street

with cold tongues