Lap Of Luxury
The money won't last forever ---
rent man called twice today.
I hope some day you'll find me
in the lap of luxury.
Searched for a new apartment
but they don't grow on trees.
Just want to lay my head
in the lap of luxury.
Stepped out on a new horizon ---
felt a new spring in my feet.
Found a job, it could set me up
dangling in the lap of luxury.
And the gaffer is a man of substance ---
drives a jag and takes high tea.
Lives beyond the industrial wasteland,
laughing in the lap of luxury.
I need money, now, to soothe my heart!
Buy me a Datsun or Toyota ---
get the tax man to agree
all expenses I can muster
from the lap of luxury.
Under Wraps
Keep it quiet. (Go slow.)
Circulate. Need to know.
Stamp the date upon your file ---
masquerade, but well worth while.
Wrapped in the warmth of you ---
wrapped up in your smile.
Wrapped in the folds of your attention.
Wear an air --- (keep mum)
of casual indifference.
Careful how you go
about your usual business.
Wrapped in daydreams of you ---
wrapped up by your eyes.
Wrapped in the folds of your attention.
Under wraps! I've got you under wraps.
Tell you when --- (not yet)
soon the great unveiling.
Bless my boots! Upon my soul!
Secrecy, it is my failing.
Wrapped in your Summer night ---
wrapped in your Autumn leaves.
Wrapped in the Winter of your sleeping.
European Legacy
She smiles at me
from beyond the eastern sea-shore.
Flashing jewelled eyes,
she hoists her skirts so high.
Nouvelle cuisine or an oyster bar ---
it's really up to her.
I'll write every cheque she brings to me.
I shoot on sight ---
it's my European legacy.
Round the castle walls ---
about the Highlands and the Islands
the faint reminders stand.
Visitors who took a hand
a thousand years ago, or so ---
stranded high and dry by tides ---
washed up a new identity.
The channel's wide ---
but it's their European legacy.
I strain my eyes
against the southern light advancing.
On whiter cliffs I'm high.
The sea birds roll and tumble as they fly.
I hear distant mainland music echo
in my island ears.
My feet begin to move instinctively
to the warmer beat of my European legacy.
She smiles at me
from beyond the eastern sea-shore.
Flashing jewelled eyes,
she hoists her skirts so high.
Nouvelle cuisine or an oyster bar ---
it's really up to her.
I'll write every cheque she brings to me.
She shoots on sight ---
it's her European legacy.
Later, That Same Evening
Later, that same evening, she ran.
I think she ran alone.
Later, she had early warning from
a hidden phone.
Checked with the embassy ---
she might have been
a million miles away.
Should I circulate her likeness
at all airports without delay?
It was later ---
later that same evening.
Earlier, we had had a drink or four
in some Kensington hotel.
Hard --- it was hard to keep my mind
on what she had to sell.
And with all business done
we took a cab ---
should it be her place or mine?
Good security prevailed
and I was home just after nine.
It was later ---
later that same evening.
Now I want you back.
Yes, they want you back.
We want you back.
My country wants you back.
Later, in the wee small hours
there was heavy traffic on the radio.
Scare at a channel port ---
small craft warnings to keep to shore.
Lobstermen thought they saw
a submarine
half submerged suspiciously.
Though I arrived too late,
I'm sure she blew a kiss to me
as the sub sailed out to sea.
Saboteur
In and out of shady places ---
walking on cold corners of the maze.
Following the trace you leave unwittingly.
I wanna be no Saboteur.
Oh, no, me no Saboteur.
Painted ducks across your landscape ---
happy in your domesticity (it don't come free).
Misfortune, like a Sparrow Hawk, hangs over you.
Wanna be no Saboteur.
No, no, me no Saboteur.
Deepest regrets I humbly offer you
as I cut into your life.
With clean precision, all is simplified ---
pass the hat and pass the knife.
By now you must be worried, wondering
who is me and what lies behind my art.
I'm only removing broken sea-shells from the beach ---
oh, no, me no Saboteur.
There's at least one of me inside your ranks
in your factory or school.
I anticipate a cleansing opportunity
to take the horns by the bull.
History forever writing
pages to be cut or painted grey,
or celebrated like Jesus in his
temple rage
as he chased the money-men away.
I wanna be no Saboteur.
Be no, be no Saboteur.
Radio Free Moscow
Tune into messages
from the Eastern avenue.
Lock on to the ether ---
squeeze the signal through and through.
War of the air-waves
making scare-waves.
I'm getting pictures
from my radio (Free Moscow).
Moscow Radio.
Voice of America ---
symbol of the free.
Mine of disinformation
pleading sympathy.
Down in the cold-war games
forever naming names.
I'm getting pictures
from my radio (Free Moscow).
Keep getting pictures
from my radio (Free Moscow).
I put my headphones on ---
reach out on the beam.
Shutter up the windows ---
I'm getting up some steam.
Somebody's at the door
catching me in the act ---
they've been keeping the score.
I'm getting pictures
from my radio (Free Moscow).
Yes, I'm getting pictures
from my radio (Free Moscow).
Astronomy
The middle lane has trapped my car
in red-light claustrophobia.
I slip the shackles, cut the rope ---
stand naked with a telescope
as the cat walks alone
under a big sky.
Against the dark so thin and white ---
gonna be a big sky night.
Miss Galileo, come with me
and view the new Astronomy.
Black hole dressing on salad plate ---
quasar at the kissing gate.
Now the cat, he walks alone
under a big sky.
Umbrella dome pin-pricked in lights ---
gonna be a big sky night.
My spectacles, my white lab coat ---
my coffee, thermos and my notes.
I pat my pockets. I got the keys
to the secrets of the observatory.
And closing the door,
I feel a new dawn
as the darker slides align ---
you to yours and me to mine.
And now you stand, assisting me ---
I can touch what I can see, see, see.
I look in wonder, I feel no shame ---
see the consequences of the game.
Expand the universe.
Head for the Big Bang.
Reach for my switch and shout ---
gonna turn the big sky out.
There's got to be astronomy.
Astronomy.
