MISSING PERSON What will I do when you move away will I wait for the pound of your footsteps each day will I miss the soft sound of your cough in the hall as time passes by will I miss you at all CHORUS: Yes, I'll miss you, I'll miss you, I'll miss you, I know As I ask once again, must it always, must it always be so Will I miss the way that you call my name will I miss the astuteness of mind and brain will I miss all the mess that you drop on the floor will I find someone else that I simply adore [CHORUS] Will I miss your odd smile and your style and your grace will I miss all the sadness that rests on your face will I miss all the thumps as you race up the stairs will I miss the feeling that somebody cares
Lady June
Hit and Myth
YOU ARE You are the plug to my sink and I can't get you out You are the chain to my loo and I can't flush you down You are the key to my door but I can't fit you in You are the frame to my window I see through you and the world looks brighter When you are open the air is lighter. When you are near there is no heat, no cold, no age and I therefore am not old. YOU are my Hook, Line and Stinker.
BUGS Bugs, bugs, now I'm at war Got a bug karma, it's bed-bugs for sure. Bugged in the head and itching all over Bugs in the bed sure ain't living in clover. Phoned up the council the second time round But they'd clean forgot 'bout my bugs on the bound. Bugs in the mattress and bugs in the floor Bugs on the pillows and bugs at the door. Sleep out at night driven from home Those little brown bastards won't leave me alone. Bugs, bugs, I'm sick in the head It's driving me crazy, I wish they were dead!
SEA-CAKE I was burning my candle at both ends When up came a man-eating shark, He ate what was left of my middle And now my life's lived in the dark So I'm writing this rhyme in his belly And rapidly turning to drink, It's damp and it's rotten and smelly And I'm right on the edge of the brink. If you happen to come by a bottle That is floating adrift in the sea, Then look deep down inside at the turn of the tide 'Cos you might find a message from me.
FLEAS DREAM TOO Although I'm just a little flea I wish I lived under the sea. I'd bite the mermaids on their tits And chew the whales to little bits. I'm not at all particular Nip, nip, rub, itch, scratch, scratch, kind sir I'm not at all particular Might bite a lobster on its beak Then nip a trout while in a creek I'd sting King Neptune on his bum Then go inside and bite his mum. I'm not at all particular Nip, nip, rub, itch, scratch, scratch, kind sir I'm not at all particular Go jump into an oyster's shell And make its life a living hell Then find a mussell on a rock And watch it go and run amok. I'm not at all particular Nip, nip, rub, itch, scratch, scratch, kind sir I'm not at all particular The mackerels, sardines, crabs and plaices, Bitten all over their faces, Monkfish, haddock, bream and coley All swimming round and looking holy. I'm not at all particular Nip, nip, rub, itch, scratch, scratch, kind sir I'm not at all particular I'd dance with dolphins in the deep And have no time to even sleep, I might look like a little dot But when I'm through you'll know I'm not.
CHERNOBYL FALL-OUT REGGAE Who killed de thrushes dyin' in de bushes? Who killed de sparrow, cancer in de marrow? Chernobyl fall-out Reason for a quarrel. Man don't eat de thrushes. Man might get de cancer. Chernobyl fall-out, man, dat ain't de answer.
FOOD FOR THOUGHT 'Half a pound of bananas for a pound' he sez So I sez to 'im 'This banana's black, AND it's got a hole in the middle, an' not only that, it's round and flat 'n all' 'What's the matter?' he sez 'Ain't you never seen a round, flat banana with a hole in the middle before? Government subsidized, they are, high protein, free range, black plastic bananas, broken all records, quite a few teeth, AND one or two cassettes on the quiet. Tell you what!' he sez loudly: 'Take this record of: Yes we have no bananas, Half a pound of tuppeny rice, Half a pound of treacle, AND 200 Green Stamps, Then lets be seeing the back-to-front of you' Well, you should have seen the nasty mess it made of the turntable, never did find the needle to this day I tell yer, funny shape for a record too, more like a banana I'd say, know what I mean? Wad-a-mean, wad-a-mean, wad-a-mean, wad-a-mean wad-a-mean, wad-a-mean, wad-a-mean, wad-a-mean
MAYBE I'M RAINING Maybe I'm raining. The rock cries The stone signs The cat died. I think I'm raining. My madness is silent My smile is quite brilliant My eyes are dead sparrows That wait for resilience; They are gently raining.
MIRAGE You are running, running, But you never move. For if you tread my road It is endless. You are hiding, but invisible To none but yourself, As all the walls are made of glass And you are the transparency. You show me the way To the gates of paradise But they are locked And you forgot the key. You teach me how to fly But not to land again. Your mouth forms words That say 'I love you' But even as we speak They run back into the Comfort of your dreams 'Stand up and be counted' I scream to you silently, As taking your hand it melts away And you begin to slowly Disappear again.
CANAL REFLECTIONS Reflections. Quite without description. Twin realities. Sky Moon Earth-Water Moon, that motivates as tiny living beings flash like gold and head between the darkness of the trees that languorously shift and stretch a prefixed pattern eased. The Church Bell strikes in solitary arrogance some Legal quirk legitimizes certain loudnesses. The Bird songs long since silenced by the stillness of the night. Reflections, melting like a lover with the dawn. Last moment's gold now nothing but a silvered sign. Reflections shifting, drifting, drifting, mirrors from an eye.
LET'S BLAME IT ALL ON GOD Sometimes I need a hand to hold or maybe just a finger if that could only catch the tear that seldom falls. Embarassment can linger, lose you friends. And YOU, God? Do you hear me, YOU? So very clever, makin' all the world, curled up there high 'n' cosy, and us down here, a tryin' an' supposing, posin' and so good. But reality, (whatever that is!) flings one into praying to you now and then, YOU (whoever you are.) Help, HELP ME! JESUS, MARY, are you anyone that's even like me? If not, maybe I'm the one that should be helping YOU, 'cos sure as hell, as far as I can see I don't get too much help from you. I'm dying, dying, DYING, Can't you hear me crying from this Discotheque? Oh, what the heck, you're much too busy jiving on your clouds, and I'm too busy boogeying to become part of your shrouds.
WELL IN IT I walked upon a lonely path and came upon a turd. While stepping neatly over it I seemed to think I heard it say to me: 'I smell so bad I'm something of a shit.' I said to it: 'I lost my nose so I don't care a bit' And then I thought it said some more but as I'd lost an ear it didn't make much difference 'cos I simply couldn't hear. I was thinking that a talking turd is really rather strange when both my eyes dropped in my head and I went quite deranged. I almost tried to eat it but it's really not my taste and anyway I couldn't as my mouth had got misplaced. Now I'd like to face this problem but that's also disappeared and now I come to think of it the rest looks pretty weird. So should you tread a lonely path and chance upon a turd just be sure to turn a blind eye and don't listen to a word. It may all sound a bit far-fetched but I don't care a bit the reason's quite apparent it's called 'BEING IN THE SHIT'.
BEING NEEDY MAKES FOR GREEDY The world is full of greediness and what is really needed gets abandoned in the bustle and just passes by unheeded. Except for just a very few who are in the main despised and they're about the only ones who approximate being wise. Even when its imminent all change is very slow just alters when it happens and there's no place you can go. The dart of fear will re-appear to suffocate your power and the crazy race leaves you face to face with a world that's turning sour. Forms and lies and phony people sick games for control honesty now history stand up and play your role.
THE PROBLEM The problem with being open minded is your brains fall out. [Lady June, Hit and Myth]
EUSTON STATION Arriving in a smoothness and warmth. Leaning here against this stone grey pillar Stone grey floor and blackened stoned grey building Upwardly seeing only a soft blue sky Basking myself in the warmth of sunbeams Silently a softly chugging monster Eases itself with imperceptible sighs and groans Into its situation for my embarkation. And so, embarking, through a pane of glass I spy A blackened soul a-portering. From long lost sunshine shores, Stretched out and sighing on a platform seat In nowhere land. We are the loners, We are the longlast ligging looners, We are the make it I'll be soonest We are the shake it and be tunist We are the do it if it exist We are the, we are the, we are, the ligging Looooooners One shrill cry And I seated floated fly Atop drum wheels that fight for patterns 'mid the noise And flow on rail directionals. The sun sinks low behind bad-shapers in the sky And now with angry roar we really fly, And monster's screaming out his high from speed And I must flow along in optimism for my need. This carriage is 'No smoking. Penalty Ten pounds'. (I remember when you could score half an ounce for that!) A field of caravans A field of yellow vans And a black horse Of course. Just things passing by But each one moments of sheer joy. This queue is one of pure intent, for alcohol, no more, no less. Each one of you, or four (Depending on how good a night it was) Will drink to that, I'm sure! And so, I sit here, respectable like, Hell bent for a black pool, An' just because me dress almost shows me bum Don't think I'll be taking any of yer 'You know what'! An' anyway, if yer look twice Yer can tell I'm a nice girl really, And if you look really close You might even think I'm a poet With me sittin' here writin' like Aw, who gives a damn, Don't lay yer bloody hang-ups on me, I've got enough of me own And a few to give away, If you've got room on your wall for another hang-up. Dots on a green hill, sheep-like. Boxes on a sheet of water, boat-type. Watford-services-gap- Hoover-National-go-camping are passing words that string along strabismally. A black pool, why not a blue pool, I sigh optimistically. At least they got some rock But you eat it, Not 'ear it, so they say. A reflection of the setting sun Runs along my window hurriedly. I have a sun on either side, How can life better be? Now left sun disappeared While right one floats away To join another dawn and reappear. Past slurgy ponds As yet unlit by setting suns Killers sit round catching what they can. They wait and kill Until their time will come. Wires without confusion intertwine, They rise and fall like ballet dancers making mime, Their stage a lightly greying sky, The light-show later, called 'The Firmament', With guesting stars to make it an event. Now I a crumpled heap of semi-sleep, The sun, a rosy ball just flitted by again and died, Another day just put aside. The train stops. The window on my left is crying.
HIPOPPOTHESIS I don't know, POP! People who get in certain states of mind will know the meaning Answer to hypothetical question, Pop hot Almonds into crushed glasses of Oxo Cupids, it might help out if your body ain't stupid. The question was not hypothetical OK If you can convince me that any question is anything but hypothetical, while I peacefully push this toasted Cream Cheese muscular sandwich into acquainting itself with my teeth and no illogical irruptions, if you please. Le Gran Burp. POP! Pop! Sorry!! What weren't you saying? Sorry! Any hypothesist worth calling himself a Poet would never question 'I don't know answers, or hypotheses, unless others wise prunes proved it. Sorry!' Meanwhiles whiled away time in Washington, wishing he'd left it all filthy in the first place, and to hell with the Hypodermathetomic. Who can afford it anyway? With a Reagan in Office. HE shall not want THEY will be done. Hypo-romises to a-fish-all polluted anyways, and Cousteau paid for himself in the drains. Halleluyah! said the Spire as the Church caught fire, the weather was vain but the Church was the Liar. A Hippopotamus has rented the Apartment upstairs. I'll have to complain about the noise, parties all night, the ceiling's going to go any minute. I don't mind, but I can't have THAT falling on top of me in the middle of Nightingales in a Barking Squat. I shall live on a shelf me self. A Rackman. Rented the rest its a way to invest Trying to beat the Conflaitabinations. Baby Jack, son of Gunga Din, a phoney plugger, Went to Jamaica to look for some Sugar, Chased a Bugger-ound a Marijuana Tree. Going mad, but consistent. A Rhinoceros has just rushed into my bed-room, the Fly Spray seems to be inadequate, as are the Tranquilizers, there MUST be some solution. Is there no peace? Its doing it all over the floor! No wonder the rent's cheap, with a Rhino rushing around a room the size of a sock all night, and I have to get up early to catch a Bus in the afternoon. Dead, but still landing!