WARCHILD
Warchild
I'll take you down to that bright city mile 
there to powder your sweet face and paint on a smile, 
that will show all of the pleasures and none of the pain, 
when you join my explosion and play with my games. 
WarChild dance the days, and dance the nights away. 
WarChild dance the days, and dance the nights away. 
No unconditional surrender; no armistice day 
each night I'll die in my contentment and lie in your grave. 
While you bring me water and I give you wine. 
Let me dance in your tea-cup and you shall swim in mine. 
WarChild dance the days, and dance the nights away. 
Open your windows and I'll walk through your doors. 
Let me live in your country let me sleep by your shores. 
WarChild dance the days, and dance the nights away. 
WarChild dance the days, and dance the nights away. 
WarChild dance the days, and dance the nights away. 
WarChild dance the days, and dance the nights away. 
Queen And Country
The wind is on the river and the tide has turned too late, 
so we're sailing for another shore where some other ladies wait. 
To throw us silken whispers: catch us by the anchor chains, 
but we all laugh so politely and we sail on just the same 
for Queen and Country in the long dying day, 
And it's been this way for five long years, since we signed our souls away. 
We bring back gold and ivory; rings of diamonds; strings of pearls 
make presents to the government so they can have their social whirl 
with Queen and Country in the long dying day. 
And it's been this way for five long years since we signed our souls away. 
They build schools and they build factories with the spoils of battles won. 
And we remain their pretty sailor boys hold our heads up to the gun. 
Of Queen and Country in the long dying day. 
And it's been this way for five long years since we signed our souls away. 
To Queen and Country in the long dying day. 
And it's been this way for five long years since we signed our souls away. 
Ladies
Ladies of leisure, 
with their eyes on the back roads. 
All looking for strangers, 
to whom they extend welcomes 
With a smile and a glimpse of 
pink knees and elbows; 
Of satin and velvet 
good ladies, good fortune. 
Ladies. 
They sing of their heroes: 
of solitary soldiers 
Invested in good health 
and manner most charming. 
Whose favors are numbered 
(none the less well intended) 
By hours in a minute; 
by those ladies who bless them. 
Ladies. 
Back-Door Angels
In and out of the front door, 
ran twelve back-door angels. 
Their hair was a golden-brown 
they didn't see me wink my eye. 
'Tis said they put we men to sleep 
with just a whisper, 
And touch the heads of dying dogs 
and make them linger. 
They carry their candles high 
and they light the dark hours. 
And sweep all the country clean 
with pressed and scented wild-flowers. 
They grow all their roses red, 
and paint our skies blue 
drop one penny in every second bowl 
make half the beggars lose, 
why do the faithful have such a will 
to believe in something? 
And call it the name they choose, 
having chosen nothing. 
Think I'll sit down and invent some fool 
some Grand Court Jester. 
And next time the die is cast, 
he'll throw a six or two. 
In and out of the back-door ran 
one front-door angel, 
Her hair was a golden-brown 
she smiled and I think she winked her eye. 
SeaLion
Over the mountains, and under the sky 
riding dirty gray horses, go you and I. 
Mating with chance, copulating with mirth 
the sad-glad paymasters (for what it's worth). 
The ice-cream castles are refrigerated; 
the super-marketeers are on parade. 
There's a golden handshake hanging round your neck, 
as you light your cigarette on the burning deck. 
And you balance your world on the tip of your nose 
like a SeaLion with a ball, at the carnival. 
You wear a shiny skin and a funny hat 
the Almighty Animal Trainer lets it go at that. 
You bark ever-so-slightly at the Trainer's gun, 
with you whiskers melting in the noon-day sun. 
You flip and you flop under the Big White Top 
where the long-legged ring-mistress starts and stops. 
But you know, after all, the act is wearing thin 
as the crowd grows uneasy and the boos begin. 
But you balance your world on the tip of your nose 
you're a SeaLion with a ball at the carnival. 
Just a trace of pride upon our fixed grins 
for there is no business like the show we're in. 
There is no reason, no rhyme, no right 
to leave the circus 'til we've said good-night. 
The same performance, in the same old way; 
it's the same old story to this Passion Play. 
So we'll shoot the moon, and hope to call the tune 
and make no pin cushion of this big balloon. 
Look how we balance the world on the tips of our noses, 
like SeaLions with a ball at the carnival. 
Skating Away On The Thin Ice Of The New Day
Meanwhile back in the year One, 
when you belonged to no-one, 
you didn't stand a chance son, 
if your pants were undone. 
'Cause you were bred for humanity 
and sold to society 
one day you'll wake up 
in the Present Day 
a million generations removed from expectations of being who you really want to be. 
Skating away, skating away, 
skating away on the thin ice of the New Day. 
So as you push off from the shore, 
won't you turn your head once more 
and make your peace with everyone? 
For those who choose to stay, 
will live just one more day 
to do the things they should have done. 
And as you cross the wilderness, 
spinning in your emptiness: 
you feel you have to pray. 
Looking for a sign that the Universal Mind has written you into the Passion Play. 
Skating away, skating away, 
skating away on the thin ice of the New Day. 
And as you cross the circle line, 
the ice-wall creaks behind 
you're a rabbit on the run. 
And the silver splinters fly 
in the corner of your eye 
shining in the setting sun. 
Well, do you ever get the feeling that the story's 
too damn real and in the present tense? 
Or that everybody's on the stage, and it seems like you're 
the only person sitting in the audience? 
Skating away, skating away, 
skating away on the thin ice of the New Day. 
Skating away, skating away , skating away 
Bungle in the Jungle
Walking through forests of palm tree apartments 
scoff at the monkeys who live in their dark tents 
down by the waterhole 
drunk every Friday 
eating their nuts 
saving their raisins for Sunday. 
Lions and tigers who wait in the shadows 
they're fast but they're lazy, and sleep in green meadows. 
Let's bungle in the jungle 
well, that's all right by me. 
I'm a tiger when I want love, 
but I'm a snake if we disagree. 
Just say a word and the boys will be right there: 
with claws at your back to send a chill through the night air. 
Is it so frightening to have me at your shoulder? 
Thunder and lightning couldn't be bolder. 
I'll write on your tombstone, ``I thank you for dinner.'' 
This game that we animals play is a winner. 
Let's bungle in the jungle 
well, that's all right by me. 
I'm a tiger when I want love, 
but I'm a snake if we disagree. 
The rivers are full of crocodile nasties 
and He who made kittens put snakes in the grass. 
He's a lover of life but a player of pawns 
yes, the King on His sunset lies waiting for dawn 
to light up His Jungle 
as play is resumed. 
The monkeys seem willing to strike up the tune. 
Only Solitaire
Brain-storming habit-forming battle-warning weary 
winsome actor spewing spineless chilling lines --- 
the critics falling over to tell themselves he's boring 
and really not an awful lot of fun. 
Well who the hell can he be when he's never had V.D., 
and he doesn't even sit on toilet seats? 
Court-jesting, never-resting 
he must be very cunning 
to assume an air of dignity 
and bless us all with his oratory prowess, 
his lame-brained antics and his jumping in the air. 
And every night his act's the same 
and so it must be all a game of chess he's playing 
"But you're wrong, Steve: You see, it's only solitaire.'' 
The Third Hoorah
Hoorah! 
WarChild, dance the days and nights awa 
sweet child, how do you do today? 
When your back's to the wall, 
and your luck is your all, 
then side with whoever you may. 
Seek that which within lies waiting to begin 
the fight of your life that is everyday. 
Dance with the WarChild 
Hoorah. 
WarChild, dance the days and nights away 
sweet child, how do you do today? 
In the heart of your heart, there's the tiniest part 
of an urge to live to the death 
with a sword on your hip and a cry on your lips 
to strike life in the inner child's breast. 
Dance with the WarChild 
Hoorah. 
WarChild, dance the days and nights away 
sweet child, how do you do today? 
Two Fingers
I'll see you at the Weighing-In, 
when your life's sum-total's made 
and you set your wealth in Godly deeds 
against the sins you've laid. 
And you place your final burden 
on your hard-pressed next of kin: 
Send the chamber-pot back down the line 
to be filled up again. 
And the hard-headed miracle worker 
who bathes his hands in blood, 
Will welcome you to the final nod 
and cover you with mud. 
And he'll say, "You really should make the deal,'' 
as he offers round the hat. 
"You'd better lick two fingers clean 
He'll thank you all for that.'' 
As you slip on the greasy platform, 
and you land upon your back, 
You make a wish and you wipe your nose upon the railway track. 
While the high-strung locomotive, 
with furnace burning bright, 
Lumbers on 
you wave goodbye 
and the sparks fade into night. 
And as you join the Good Ship Earth, 
and you mingle with the dust 
you'd better leave your underpants 
with someone you can trust. 
And when the Old Man with the telescope 
cuts the final strand 
you'd better lick two fingers clean, 
before you shake his hand.