A Crossfire Spring light in a hazy May and a man with a gun at the door Someone's crawling on the roof above all the media here for the show I've been waiting for our friends to come Like spiders down ropes to free-fall A thirty round clip for a visiting card admit one to the embassy ball Caught in the crossfire on Princes Gate Avenue In go the windows and out go the lights Call me a doctor. Fetch me a policeman I'm down on the floor in one hell of a fight I'm just a soul with an innocent face a regular boy dressed in blue conducting myself in a proper way as befitting the job that I do They came down on me like a ton of bricks Swept off my feet, knocked about There's nothing for it but to sit and wait for the hard men to get me out Calm reason floats from the street below and the slow fuse burns through the night Everyone's tried to talk it through but they can't seem to get the deal right Somewhere there are Brownings in a two-hand hold cocked and locked, one up the spout There's nothing for it but to sit and wait for the hard men to get me out Fylingdale Flyer Through clear skies tracking lightly from far down the line No fanfare, just a blip on the screen No quick conclusions now everything will be fine Short-circuit glitsch and not what it seems Fylingdale Flyer you're only half way there Green screen liar for a second or so we were running scared On late shift, feeling drowsy eyes glued to the display Dead cert alert, lit match to the straw One last quick game of bowls we can still win the day Fail-safe; forget the things that you saw They checked the systems through and they read A-o.k. Some tiny fuse has probably blown Sit back; relax and soon it will just go away Keep your hands off that red telephone Working John, Working Joe When I was a young man (as all good tales begin) I was taught to hold out my hand And for my pay I worked an honest day and took what pittance I could win Now I'm a working John and I'm a working Joe and I'm doing what I know for God and the Economy Big brother watches over me And the state protects and feeds me And my conscience never leaves me And I'm loyal to the unions who protect me at all levels And as I grew, the winds of fortune blew and the bank smiled down upon me And mortgaged to the hilt I threw the breeze of caution behind me Now I'm a working John and I'm a working Joe and I'm good at what I know And God and the Economy have blessed me with equality Now I'm equal to the best of you And better than the rest of you who would criticise my success in times of national unrest Now I own my horseless carriage in its central-heated garage And I commute eighty miles a day up at seven to make it pay I direct ten limited companies with seeming consummate expertise two ulcers and a heart disease a trembling feeling in both knees I'm a working John and I'm a working Joe Black Sunday Tomorrow is the one day I would change for a Monday with freezing rains melting and no trains running and sad eyes passing in windows flimsy and my seat rocking from legs not quite matching Got passport, credit cards, a plane that I'm catching Black Sunday falls one day too soon The taxi that takes me will be moving too quickly My suitcases simply too full for the closing of pants, shirts and kisses all packed in a hurry Two best-selling paper backs chosen at random no sign of sales-persons to whom I might hand them Black Sunday falls one day too soon And down at the airport are probably waiting a few thousand passengers, overbooked seating Time long suspended in transit-lounge traumas connections broken and Special Branch waiting conspicuously standing in holiday clothing Black Sunday falls one day too soon Pick up my feet and kick off my lethargy Down to the gate with the old mood upon me Get out and chase the small immortality born in the minute of my next returning Impatient feet tapping and cigarette burning Homecoming one day too soon And back at the house there's a grey sky a-tumbling Milk bottles piling on door steps a-crumbling Curtains all drawn and cold water plumbing Notepaper scribbles I read unbelieving Saying how sorry, how sad was the leaving ... one day too soon Protect And Survive They said protect and you'll survive (but our postman didn't call) 8lbs. of over-pressure wave seemed to glue him to the wall They said protect and you'll survive E.M.P. took out the radio (and our milk-man didn't call) Flash blinded by the pretty lights, didn't see his bottles fall or feel the warm black rain arrive Big friendly cloud builds in the West (and our dust-men haven't called) They left the dual carriageway at a hundred miles an hour a tail wind chasing them away And in deep shelters lurk below, sub-regional control who sympathise but cannot help to mend your body or your soul Self-appointed guadians of the race with egg upon their face When steady sirens sing all-clear they pop up, find nobody here And so I watch two new suns spin (our paper man doesn't call) Burnt shadow printed on the road now there's nothing there at all They said protect and you'll survive Batteries Not Included Six o'clock in the morning Wake up by the bed There sits a Japanese toy And I like it See the name on the wrapping Can't read yet but I know it's made for me (lucky boy) And I want it Lights that flash, wheels that go round Digital display Fresh silicon chips to enjoy And I need them (Where's the batteries?) Sitting silent and empty Wish I could breathe life in my new friend who's terribly still And I like him Just like me. P'rhaps he's hungry. Six volts make him smile And twelve volts would probably kill How I like him Daddy, where's the batteries I can't find my batteries (There's no batteries) Seven o'clock in the morning They find me by the bed with my friend the Japanese toy I am with him Mummy, Daddy can't see you, hear you. Batteries not included in this little boy (Where's my batteries?) Uniform See black, see yellow with little notebooks drawn See grey stripes bowling down the street Silver streaks and T-shirts so precisely torn Strange foreign chaps in white bed-sheets Uniforms See golden halo'd men of high renown prance to the politicians' beat Well tailored in unswerving elegance with shoes by Gucci on their feet Uniforms How do you know who the hell you are? Wake up each day under a different star Dressed to the nines, meet yourself going home like a clone, smartly dressed in your pressed uniform White battle dress on green pitch, proud eleven Beneath the swelling box so neat the teeming millions of the future fly the spinning cricket ball to cheat They're all uniform 4.W.D. (Low Ratio) Met a man just the other day said his name was Jim. Boy, won't you take a look! Got a car for you it's a real steal Cleaned it right down new brakes, clutch and here's the hook Yes, it's a 4.W.D. (low ratio) Cash to Jim. I took it home through the deep mud. Plugged happy as a boy in sand Fitted wide tyres, spotlight, a winch as well and some brush bars up front to complete the plan Now it's really a 4.W.D. (low ratio) Take you down to the edge of town Where the road stops, we start to hold the ground Well, I'm blessed! Got traction in a special way Hold the roll bar, slide back, feel me pull it round Let me show you my 4.W.D. (low ratio) The Pine Marten's Jig [Instrumental] And Further On We saw the heavens break and all the world go down to sleep and rocks on mossy banks drip acid rain from craggy steeps Saw fiery angels kiss the dawn Wish you goodbye till further on Will you still be there further on? And troubled dynasties, like legions lost, have blown away Hounds hard upon their heels call to their quarry wait and play Before the last faint light has gone Wish you goodbye till further on Will you still be there further on? The angry waves grow high cut icy teeth on northern shores Brave fires that flicker, cough give way to winds through broken doors And with the last line almost drawn wish you goodbye till further on Will you still be there further on? |