LITTLE BLUE
You can’t write a novel from a briefcase
You can write a poem from a trench
You can dream a dream from A to B
But you can’t catch a bus from a bench
You don’t back a horse called Striding Snail
You don’t name your boat Titanic II
So why when I see your happy smiling face
Do I always end up singing Little Blue
Little Blue, how do you do
Your smile looks like heaven
But your eyes hold a storm about to brew
Little Blue
How can a flower so pretty, be so laden down with dew
Little Blue
How can a flower so beautiful
Be so laden down with dew
Little Blue
You can’t build a brewery on a cemetery
You can build a pub on a church
And people fall quicker than buildings do
You have to decide what comes first
You don’t call a plane the Flying Roman
‘Cause the Romans always walked and never flew
So why when I see your happy smiling face
Do I always end up singing Little Blue
Little Blue, how do you do
Your smile looks like heaven
But your eyes hold a storm about to brew
Little Blue
How can a flower so pretty, be so laden down with dew
Little Blue
Well Bukowski wrote a story from a barstool
And Keats from the top of a hill
So I'm going to save my special song for you
From a grave where it’s quiet and it’s chill
‘Cause there’s a queue of clouds assembled
On the horizon of your smile
Where most think that you’re holding back
I know you’re holding bile
So why when I see your happy smiling face
Do I always end up singing Little Blue
Little Blue, how do you do
Your smile looks like heaven
But your eyes hold a storm about to brew
Little Blue
How can a flower so pretty, be so laden down with dew
Little Blue
How can a flower so beautiful
Be so laden down with dew
Little Blue

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MIRROR
They could be fat or could be thin
They could be black, they could be white
Tell me who’s knocking at the knocking shop door tonight
Not much a girl can do but open or close
Those things are above doors
Not much legs can do but open or close
Those things are above us whores
So imagine a mirror
Bigger than the room it was placed in
Imagine my wish for a future, that cannot hold my wish
Imagine the want to hold a rod, that cannot hold the fish
Imagine a rod that cannot hold the fish
They could be lonely or could be bust
They could be tack, they could be real
They do have feelings, but just right now I feel
A feminine receptacle, that’s just what I am
Those things are above us whores
Just the best target practice, for a misguided man
Those things are above us whores
So imagine a mirror
Bigger than the room it was placed in
Imagine my wish for a future, that cannot hold my wish
Imagine the want to hold a rod, that cannot hold the fish
Imagine a rod that cannot hold the fish

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BLACKBIRD ON THE WIRE
Eyes to take you dancing, mouth to leave your wife
Legs to run away with, and you wonder why?
Heart that makes you bypass every other girl
Smile that keeps you grinning at the madness of this world
But like the blackbird on the wire
I will not take prey on you
You wouldn’t want me to
For I am too soft for such a thing
And like the blackbird on the wire
I just watch you by
The tears I knew I’d cry
Fall unnoticed down below
Front to make you happy, back to make you weep
Lips to keep you kissing, whilst everyone’s asleep
Tears to break a backbone, laughs to win a war
And people come and ask me what I love you for
But like the blackbird on the wire
I will not take prey on you
You wouldn’t want me to
For I am too soft for such a thing
And like the blackbird on the wire
I just watch you by
The tears I knew I’d cry
Fall unnoticed down below
And with a tongue built from quicksilver, and a character of steel
They actually come and ask me how I feel
But like the blackbird on the wire
I will not take prey on you
You wouldn’t want me to
For I am too soft for such a thing
And like the blackbird on the wire
I just watch you by
The tears I knew I’d cry
Fall unnoticed down below

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THE SOUND OF NORTH AMERICA
Ginger Elvis Presley looked a fraction sad
Roaming the whole town from bin to bin
Well living on the streets wasn’t all that bad
Where no-one seemed to know that he was King
The sound of New York City isn’t police sirens wailing
It’s the sound of Wall Street tills, whilst everyone is failing
Sometimes you feel expensive, sometimes you feel so cheap
You can roam the streets a King, whilst everyone’s asleep
You can mime to any record with a hairbrush or a spoon
But God help the singer out of tune
A crippled Mohammed Ali looked at bad luck in the mirror
Bad luck looked back at him and sighed
He looked a good foot smaller and a couple of stone thinner
And if anyone came toward him he would hide
The sound of North America isn’t Christians quietly praying
It’s the sound of shuffling feet that don’t know where they’re going
Sometimes you feel expensive, sometimes you feel so cheap
You can roam the streets a King, whilst everyone’s asleep
You can fight with anybody with a glimmer of a chance
But God help the boxer with no hands
A homeless Greta Garbo moves across the street
The moonlight shining clearly through her skirt
A real life living legend that no-one wants to meet
And that’s when being Garbo really hurts
The lyrics of New York may have Frank Sinatra singing
But the rhythm and the melody were dead black men swinging
Sometimes you feel expensive, sometimes you feel so cheap
You can roam the streets a Queen, whilst everyone’s asleep
You can act with anybody from the cradle to the crypt
But God help the actress who doesn’t know the script

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HAVE FUN
Have fun, and if you can’t have fun
Have someone else’s fun
‘Cause someone sure had mine
They came in, now they’re having a whale of a time
You should grow a beard
A beard to tell a thousand stories never told before
A beard to tell you tales, whilst the fireplace roars
The closing of relationships, and the opening of doors
The starting of hostilities and the ending of wars
Take care, and if you can’t take care
Take someone else’s care
‘Cause someone took my care
They were there and then they were not there
We should have a baby
And then I wouldn’t feel quite so sad
Then I’d feel like Paul the Saint, and not Jack the Lad
A baby that’ll make me feel so very glad
I’ve had a life of booze but that’s all I’ve ever had
‘Cause I’m the King of Misery
The Prince of the torn apart
And you’re the lighthouse keeper
To the owner of a ship-wrecked heart
Take heart, and if you can’t take heart
Take someone else’s heart
Someone took my heart
They came in, now I’m torn apart
We should grey together
Not that pigeon-chested Trafalgar grey
The grey that greets you on that first October day
The grey of Russian front, whilst wolves bay
And the skeleton of life, that love decays
‘Cause you’re the Queen of Sadness
The Princess of the House of Pain
And you’re the final match
To the holder of the flickering flame
Have fun

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LIAR’S BAR
Well sitting in a bar alone, where no-one knows your name
Is like laying in a graveyard wide awake
You’re scared that if you cough or yawn, you might wake up the dead
So pretend to read a paper or not drink instead
I’m a stand-up comedian, but I’d sit down if I could
The world just seems to want folk like me to stand
And the punch-lines seem to disappear like clouds across the sky
And the laughter could be real or could be canned
Rum by the kettle drum
Whisky by the jar
At Liar’s Bar
Well living with a lying man could never really hurt
But living with a drunk, well no-one deserves
An you’re looking for your husband, you’re not sure he’s still alive
Don’t bother with the cemetery, he’ll be down at liar’s dive
I’m a traveling businessman, I just stopped in for one drink
You’ll find that I’m not like the other men
Their noses are red while mine is only pink
And they didn’t choose their drink, their drink chose them
Rum by the kettle drum
Whisky by the jar
At Liar’s Bar
And the grave digger’s smiling at his reflection in his spade
He’s visiting the seediest, the shallowest of graves
The vocal chords of elephants, and the characters of mice
They’re singing ‘whisky, whisky’, so good they named it twice
Well I don’t pass buildings with lights on, if I said that I did, I’d have lied
‘Cause what looks like a Chinese restaurant
May have Chinese New Year inside
And son, all my life I’ve been searching, the bars I’ve been in I forget
The lights outside ever brighter but a light on the inside not yet
Rum by the kettle drum
Whisky by the jar
At Liar’s Bar
And he’s a world-wide traveler, he’s not like me or you
But he comes in mighty regular for one who’s passing through
That one came in his work clothes, he’s missed his last bus home
He’s missed a hell of a lot of buses for a man who wants to roam
If I look rough I am rough
If I look sad I am
If I look broke I am broke
For a broke down piece of man
I’ve turned over enough leaves to fill an autumn
And if I had one final wish
I’d be your slave for a decade, if you could take me away from this
If you took me away from this, I’d be different you’d see
‘Cause I didn’t choose the drink, a drink just chose me
Rum by the kettle drum
Whisky by the bar
At Liar’s Bar
Well I’m smoking like a chimney
And I’m drinking like a fish
At Liar’s Bar

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ROTTERDAM (OR ANYWHERE)
And the women tug their hair
Like they’re trying to prove it won’t fall out
And all the men are gargoyles
Dipped long in Irish stout
The whole place is pickeld
The people are pickles for sure
And no-one knows if they’ve done more here
Than they ever would do in a jar
This could be Rotterdam or anywhere
Liverpool or Rome
‘Cause Rotterdam is anywhere
Anywhere alone, anywhere alone
And everyone is blonde
And everyone is beautiful
And when blonde and beautiful are multiple
They become so dull and dutiful
And when faced with dull and dutiful
They fire red warning flares
Battle-Khaki personality
With red underwear
This could be Rotterdam or anywhere
Liverpool or Rome
‘Cause Rotterdam is anywhere
Anywhere alone, anywhere alone
The whole place is pickled
The people are pickles for sure
And no-one knows if they’ve done more here
Than they ever would do in a jar
This could be Rotterdam or anywhere
Liverpool or Rome
‘Cause Rotterdam is anywhere
Anywhere alone
This could be Rotterdam or anywhere
Liverpool or Rome
‘Cause Rotterdam is anywhere
Anywhere alone
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FOUNDATIONS
Build your dream castle out of sand
It’s bound to get washed up anyway
Dream your dreams out of last week
They’re bound to have come up yesterday
If you want to give them flowers
Make them paper ones you send
Live your life a jigsaw
It goes back in the box in the end
Build your dream heart from plasticine
‘Cause you’re putty in their hands
Mould your ambition in concrete
‘Cause you’ll only land in quicksand
Carve your dough from play dough
‘Cause they’ll roll you into a ball
Make your friends from Lego
‘Cause Lego makes a wall
‘Cause when you build big houses
The paintings get stolen
The Devil says he’s silver
When you know that he is golden
When paper mache heads make more sense than the sun
Giving Teacher apples could be fun or dumb
Build your planes from Airfix
‘Cause you’ll only lose the war
Write your love letters on rice paper
At least you’ll feed the poor
Build your dream castle out of sand
It’s bound to get washed up anyway
Dream your dreams out of last week
They’re bound to have come up yesterday

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ARTIFICIAL FLOWERS
Alone in this world was poor little Anne
As sweet a young child as you’d find
Her parents had gone to their final reward
Leaving their baby behind
Did you hear this poor little child was only nine years of age
When mother and dad went away
Still she bravely worked at the one thing she knew
To earn a few pennies a day
She made artificial flowers, artificial flowers
Flowers for ladies of fashion to wear
She made artificial flowers, artificial flowers
Fashioned from Annie’s despair
With paper and shears, with wire and wax
She made up each tulip and mum
As snow flakes drifted into her tenement room
Her baby little fingers grew numb
From artificial flowers, artificial flowers
Flowers for ladies of high fashion to wear
She made artificial flowers, artificial flowers
Made from Annie’s despair
And they found little Annie all covered with ice
Still clutching her poor frozen shears
Amidst all the blossoms she had fashioned by hand
And watered with all her young tears
There must be a Heaven where little Annie can play
In heavenly gardens and bowers
And instead of a halo, she’ll wear round her head
A garland of genuine flowers
No more artificial flowers, artificial flower
Flowers for ladies of society to wear
Those artificial flowers, artificial flowers
Fashioned from Annie’s
Fashioned from Annie’s despair

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ONE GOD
Like the toupee on a fading fame
The final whistle in a losing game
Thick lipstick on a five year old girl
It makes you think it’s a plastic world
A plastic world and we’re all plastic too
Just a couple of different faces in a dead man’s queue
The world is turning Disney and there’s nothing you can do
You’re trying to walk like giants but you’re wearing Pluto’s shoes
And the answers fall easier from the barrel of a gun
Than it does from the lips of the beautiful and the dumb
The world won’t end in darkness, it’ll end in family fun
With Coca Cola clouds behind a Big Mac sun
A howling scream in a church asleep
Rusty bicycle in an ocean deep
Like an ear-ring on the newly born
Strong perfume on a winter’s morn’
The world is perfumed and we’re perfumed as well
Petals from a flower that blossomed in Hell
And you can’t breathe the air through the thickness of the smell
And you can’t see the hair through the grease or the gel
And the answers fall easier from the barrel of a gun
Than it does from the lips of the beautiful and the dumb
The world won’t end in darkness, it’ll end in family fun
With Coca Cola clouds behind a Big Mac sun
You say there’s only one God, you could do with two or three
Your Jesus Christ is hired out, like the slag of Galilee
Well if Peter is a prostitute, then what does that make me?
There’s only one God
There should be two or three
One God
There should be two or three
One God
There should be two or three
Two or three

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ALONE
Like the contents of your handbag
You don’t know why it’s there
People ask you where you’re heading
You just answer anywhere
We don’t mean to be this vague
It just happens that we are
No-one asked us to elaborate
We just shrug our shoulders and be
And like the stories that just happened
No-one thought of, no-one planned
We could have ruled, we could have conquered
Then we could have been a man
We could be ex-husband
We could be ex-wife
But no-one looks at the menu in a greasy spoon life
Alone, alone
Half an hour is seven hours
One day is several months
Alone, alone
A month is a calendar
A year can be a decade spent
Alone
He knows ‘Hello’ in eighteen languages
‘I Love You’ in only one
By the time he’s got his phrase book
The chance is usually gone
And we feel ourselves quite prepared
But quite prepared for what
We always took the lead
Before we actually knew the plot
And you can tell where we’ve been shopping
By the bags beneath our eyes
Make-up shoulders burden
But the smile never lies
We could be ex-husband
We could be ex-wife
But no-one looks at the menu in a greasy spoon life
Alone, alone
Half an hour is seven hours
One day is several months
Alone, alone
A month is a calendar
A year can be a decade spent
Alone
So empty at the airport
You don’t set off the doors
We used to feel like chorus girls
And now we feel like whores
Hearts built like reservoirs
Words built like dams
Thoughts built like juggernauts
Our actions built like prams
And when the wind blows into our face
We should be warmer and not colder
Well, what price the charges
On this cargo that we shoulder
We could be ex-husband
We could be ex-wife
But no-one looks at the menu in a greasy spoon life
Alone, alone
Half an hour is seven hours
One day is several months
Alone, alone
A month is a calendar
A year can be a decade spent
Alone
And we only smoke when bored
So we do two packs a day
And we’ve lost the difference
Between bored and lonely anyway

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