Doane Perry

Hope everybody's ringing on their own bell this fine morning
Hope everyone's connected to that long distance phone
Old man he's a mountain
Old man he's an island
Old man he's a-waking says
"I'm going to call, call all my children home"

Hope everybody's dancing to their own drum this fine morning
The beat of distant Africa or a Polish factory town
Old man he's calling for his supper
Calling for his whisky
Calling for his sons and daughters, yeah
Calling, calling all his children round

Sharp ears are tuned in to the drones and chanters warming
Mist blowing round some headland, somewhere in your memory
Everyone is from somewhere
Even if you've never been there
So take a minute to remember the part of you
That might be the old man calling me

How many wars you fighting out there this winter's morning?
Maybe there's always time for another christmas song
Old man is asleep now
Got appointments to keep now
Dreaming of his sons and daughters, and proving
Proving that the blood is strong

Hope everybody's ringing on their own bell this fine morning
Hope everyone's connected to that long distance phone
Old man he's a mountain
Old man he's an island
Old man he's a-waking says
"I'm going to call, call all my children home"

Hope everybody's dancing to their own drum this fine morning
The beat of distant Africa or a Polish factory town
Old man he's calling for his supper
Calling for his whisky
Calling for his sons and daughters, yeah
Calling, calling all his children round

Sharp ears are tuned in to the drones and chanters warming
Mist blowing round some headland, somewhere in your memory
Everyone is from somewhere
Even if you've never been there
So take a minute to remember the part of you
That might be the old man calling me

How many wars you fighting out there this winter's morning?
Maybe there's always time for another christmas song
Old man is asleep now
Got appointments to keep now
Dreaming of his sons and daughters, and proving
Proving that the blood is strong

Got a birthday card at Christmas... it made me think of Jesus Christ.
It said, "I love you" in small letters. I simply had to read it twice.
Wood smoke curled from blackened chimneys. The smell of frost was in the air.
Pole star hovered in the blackness. I looked again... it wasn't there.

People have showered me with presents. While their minds were fixed on other things.
Sleigh bells, bearded red suit uncles. Pointy trees and angel wings.
I am the shadow in your Christmas. I am the corner of your smile.
Perfunctory in celebration. You offer content but no style.

That little baby Jesus... he got a birthday card or three.
Gold trinkets and cheap frankincense. Some penny baubles for his tree.
Have some time off for good behaviour. Forty days, give or take a few.
Hey there, sweet baby Jesus... Let's share a birthday card with you.

I flew in on the evening plane.
Is it such a good idea that I am here again?
And I could cut my cold breath with a knife.
And taste the winter of another life.

A yellow cab from JFK, the long way round.
I didn't mind... gave me thinking time before I ran aground
on rocky memories and choking tears.
I believe it only rained round here in thirty years.

Now, it's the first snow on Brooklyn and my cold feet are drumming.
You don't see me in the shadows from your cozy window frame.
And last night, who was in your parlour wrapping presents in the late hour
to place upon your pillow as the morning came?

Thin wind stings my face... pull collar up.
I could murder coffee in a grande cup.
No welcome deli; there's no Starbucks here.
A dime for a quick phone call could cost me dear.

And the first snow on Brooklyn paints a Christmas card upon the pavement.
The cab leaves a disappearing trace and then it's gone.
And the snow covers my footprints, deep regrets and heavy heartbeats.
When you wake you'll never see the spot that I was standing on.

Some things are best forgotten... some are better half-remembered.
I just thought that I might be there on your, on your Christmas night.
And the first snow on Brooklyn makes a lonely road to travel -
cold crunch steps that echo as the blizzard bites.

Through long December nights we talk in words of rain or snow
While you, through chattering teeth, reply and curse us as you go.
Why not spare a thought this day for those who have no flame
To warm their bones at Christmas time?
Say Jack Frost and the Hooded Crow.

Now as the last broad oak leaf falls, we beg: consider this ---
there's some who have no coin to save for turkey, wine or gifts.
No children's laughter round the fire, no family left to know.

So lend a warm and a helping hand ---
Say Jack Frost and the Hooded Crow.

As holly pricks and ivy clings,
Your fate is none too clear.
The Lord may find you wanting, let your good fortune disappear.
All homely comforts blown away and all that's left to show
Is to share your joy at Christmas time
With Jack Frost and the Hooded Crow.

Have you seen Jack-In-The-Green?
With his long tail hanging down.
He quietly sits under every tree ---
in the folds of his velvet gown.
He drinks from the empty acorn cup
the dew that dawn sweetly bestows.
And taps his cane upon the ground ---
signals the snowdrops it's time to grow.

It's no fun being Jack-In-The-Green ---
no place to dance, no time for song.
He wears the colours of the summer soldier ---
carries the green flag all the winter long.

Jack, do you never sleep ---
does the green still run deep in your heart?
Or will these changing times,
motorways, powerlines,
keep us apart?
Well, I don't think so ---
I saw some grass growing through the pavements today.

The rowan, the oak and the holly tree
are the charges left for you to groom.
Each blade of grass whispers Jack-In-The-Green.
Oh Jack, please help me through my winter's night.
And we are the berries on the holly tree.
Oh, the mistlethrush is coming.
Jack, put out the light.

Sister Bridget by the stair: a glass of wine and she's almost there.
Cousin Jimmy at the door: another beer and he's on the floor.
Friends and neighbours come around,
Waste no time we're heaven-bound.
But not before we raise a glass to good camaraderie.

Stinky Joe from down the street fell right over his own three feet.
He's doubled up in the outside loo, to taste again the devil's brew.
Friends and neighbours come around,
Waste no time we're heaven-bound.
But not before we raise a glass to good camaraderie.

So make yourselves jolly under mistletoe, holly and ivy.
Get to it ? and be in good cheer.
And when it's all over: pigs gone to clover ?
Will the last man at the party wish me a happy New Year.

The house is jumping, suppers up. Curried goat in a paper cup.
Forks of plastic, knives of tin: who cares what state the goat is in.
Someone with the gift of song
Has brought his pal to sing along.
Now they're turning up old Frank Sinatra on the stereo.

So make yourselves jolly under mistletoe, holly and ivy.
Get to it ? and be in good cheer.
And when it's all over: pigs gone to clover ?
Will the last man at the party wish me a happy New Year.

Sister Bridget by the stair: a glass of wine and she's almost there.
Cousin Jimmy at the door: another beer and he's on the floor.
Friends and neighbours come around,
Waste no time we're heaven-bound.
But not before we raise a glass to good camaraderie.

So make yourselves jolly under mistletoe, holly and ivy.
Get to it ? and be in good cheer.
And when it's all over: pigs gone to clover ?
Will the last man at the party wish me a happy New Year.
(x2)

The bomb's in the china. The fat's in the fire.
There's no turkey left on the table.
The commuter's return on the six o'clock flyer
brings no bale of hay for the stable.
Well, the light, it is failing along the green belt
as we follow the hard road signs.
Semi-detached in our suburban-ness ---
we're living in these hard times.

Well the fly's in the milk and the cat's in the stew.
Another bun in the oven --- oh, what to do?
We'll laugh and we'll sing and try to bring
a pound from your pocket.
Good day to you.
Oh, these hard times.

The politicians sat on the wall
and traded with the union game.
Someone slapped a writ on our deficit ---
not a penny left to our name.
Oh, the times are hard and the credits lean,
and they toss and they turn in sleep.
And the line they take is the line they make ---
but it's not the line they keep.

The cow jumped over yesterday's moon
and the lock ran away with the key.
You know what you like, and you like what you know
but there is no jam for tea.
Well the light it is failing along the green belt
as we follow the hard road signs.
Semi-detached in our suburban-ness ---
we're living in these hard times.

Good morning Weathercock,
How'd you fare last night?
Did the cold wind bite you,
Did you face up to the fright
When the leaves spin from October
And whip around your tail?
Did you shake from the blast,
And did you shiver through the gale?

Give us direction, the best of goodwill,
Put us in touch with fair winds.
Sing to us softly, hum evening's song,
Tell us what the blacksmith has done for you.

Do you simply reflect changes
In the patterns of the sky,
Or is it true to say the weather heeds
The twinkle in your eye?
Do you fight the rush of winter,
And hold snowflakes at bay?
Do you lift the dawn sun from the fields
And help him on his way?

Good morning Weathercock, make this day bright.
Put us in touch with your fair winds.
Sing to us softly, hum evening's song.
Point the way to better days we can share with you.

Good morning Weathercock,
How'd you fare last night?
Did the cold wind bite you,
Did you face up to the fright
When the leaves spin from October
And whip around your tail?
Did you shake from the blast,
And did you shiver through the gale?

Give us direction, the best of goodwill,
Put us in touch with fair winds.
Sing to us softly, hum evening's song,
Tell us what the blacksmith has done for you.

Do you simply reflect changes
In the patterns of the sky,
Or is it true to say the weather heeds
The twinkle in your eye?
Do you fight the rush of winter,
And hold snowflakes at bay?
Do you lift the dawn sun from the fields
And help him on his way?

Good morning Weathercock, make this day bright.
Put us in touch with your fair winds.
Sing to us softly, hum evening's song.
Point the way to better days we can share with you.

I count the hours: you count the days.
Together, we count the minutes in this Passion Play.
Walk dusty miles. And I ride that train
on a first class ticket, just to be with you again.

Picking up tired feet. Back from a far horizon.
Cleaned up and brushed down. Dressed to look the part.
Fresh from God's garden, I bring a gift of roses:
To stand in sweet spring water and press them to your heart.

Like the Kipling cat, I walk alone -
Never inviting trouble, never casting the stone.
But this badge of honour is of tarnished tin.
Light your guiding beacon to bring this fisher in.

Stormy-eyed on the edge of dawn:
Nose pressed against the triple glaze.
Floor to ceiling, wall to wall,
Silent traffic streams both ways.
Along the fussy freeway drivers
Dream of sunday barbecues.
Of a sudden, seems I can barely
Face my self: no face to lose.
Call the bosses. call supervisors.
Won't be in today to work for you.

E-mail that girl who's working nights.
She can dress down for this wind and rain.
Leave her new korean compact:
Let some cabbie take the strain.
Take a shower. take big espresso.
Take to the hills, and take a view.
Little black dress stretching over
Hard crystal peaks: soft valleys too.

Call the bosses. call for nurses.
Unfit today to work for you.

No wet excuses. absent without leave.
I'll be her dayshift driver: exotic engineer.

Stormy-eyed on the edge of night:
(december, eastern time: late afternoon.)
Atlantic city tight behind.
Trump casina calls pontoon.
Gristle-burger, frazzled fries
End this romantic interlude.
Tomorrow morning's sweet awakening
Could hardly prove to be as rude.
Make the journey. make amends.
Work some hasty overtime in lieu.

No wet excuses. absent without leave.
I'll be her dayshift driver: exotic engineer.

She's catching the wind: the gentlest of breezes.
It's a sensitive passage she's sailing -
Through stormy straits, navigates my unfathomable failings.

She rises before me, reading me clearly.
Empty nest left pressed in the pillow.
She can shift, she can sway
and bend like a willow.

I'm swept in the riptide, caught in a fish trap.
Gift-wrapped in my soft self centre.
Summer sun leaves me as one who can only taste winter.
She's a good, a good God-send: she can bend like a willow.

With a fully armed angel to cover me quickly.
I'm cool under enemy fire.
If I fall, she can crawl right under the wire.

When I'm caustic and cold, she might dare to be bold -
ease me round to her warm way of thinking:
fill me up from the cup of love that she's drinking.
And I find, given time. I can bend like a willow.
She bends like a willow.

Hand in the snake pit - black mamba chase.
Head through the lion's cage - head on a plate.
Two feet on the hot coals - last dance at the ball.
Blindfold on the tightrope - whenever you call.
Be my slippery slider, Black Mamba crawl over me.

Dark thoughts of the sleepless - hung out to dry.
Slip through the bedclothes - unblinking eye.
Long tongue flickering - fixed stare grip.
Sweet venomous potion, held to my lip.
Be my slippery slider, Black Mamba crawl over me.

A tropical whisper. A sibilant kiss.
Soft strike teasing. Dangerous bliss.

It's a wide world out there
So much wider than imagined
I can't quite put my finger on the pulse
Of your heart softly beating
Just beneath the raw silk sheen
That reflects the tints of autumn from the hills.

So punch my name.
And in case you wonder -
I'll be yours - yours, dot com.

Executive accommodation
Bland but nonetheless appealing
Waiters discretely at your beck and call
Place the tall sun-down potion
Lightly by your velvet elbow
While you compose a message on the wall.

So punch my name.
And in case you wonder -
I'll be yours - yours, dot com.

With your handmade leather valise
Packed and ready, ready waiting
Showered and dressed down lightly for the heat
Gice a clue; leave a kind word
Hint as to a destination
A domain where our cyber-souls might meet.

So punch my name.
And in case you wonder -
I'll be yours - yours, dot com.

Placing people in their dreamscape
with fantasies of foreign fields
Lofty spires all well appointed
In off-season special deals.

To far Alaska: down to Rio in the Carnival
Norwegian fjords in the ever-light of Solstice call

A part of me might travel with you
in a freebie bucket seat for one
Business First - at last, forever
Hopeless thoughts of flying fun

Now get me out of here I cry in air rage psycho-doom
I'm only dream-arranging from the safety of my room

Pick a place or stick a pin in
any corner of the sphere
Post me cards and tell me nicely
Say you wish that I was here

To far Alaska: down to Rio in the Carnival
Norwegian fjords in the ever-light of Solstice call

Hot mango flush.
Ladies with ice cream hair -
Gyroscopic pink neon beams -
Everybody's happy about something.
The crowd moves like a flock of startlings: they
switch direction as one.
Jive on the jukebox - Jack and Joker
split the night air with whoop and holler.
Faint aroma - wood smoke, old fish,
diesel harbour, roadside mongrel,
painted man with buttons barely
holding, bursting belly bulging.
Doe-eyed ragamuffin mumbling -
Scolded for some vague infraction.
Stole a penny candy-coloured
sweetheart kiss down at the market.
Down at the market all the world
seems to simmer:
Hot mango flush.

Hey little buddies:
soft and silky night walkers.
Dangerous species -
Tiptoe menace long grass stalkers
on my bed:
no butter melting in your jaws.
Bonding monster -
Lethal weapon wearing claws.

Let's go out to hunt by numbers.

Tabby, spotted, black as coal -
Serval, Margy, Caracal.
Moggie in the moonlight listens:
whiskered sensory miracle.
Felis, befriend us -
Egyptian Mau - Freya's familiar.
Long in the future -
Cloned disciples, the castle guard.

Now, let's go out and hunt by numbers.

Hot Mango Flush

Kilometers from nowhere on a scented avenue -
Lined with poppy girls.
I didn't stop, stop to say hello.
Curious vendors - waving bric-a-brac -
Looked me over -
Thought it best, best that I should go.

Don't wake me: I'm falling.
Slow spiral into morning.
Who's out there? Can't hear you.
Ears covered - early warning.
Alarm bells ringing.
Time to make my peace with the dreary day.

I waited atbles - I was tipped in roubles.
Wine to water
Was the best that I could do.
Wild office parties split the silence.
Loaves and fishes at an empty table laid for two.

Down the spiral, spinning madly.
Gathering momentum
On a disneyesque adventure ride.
I fly in colours from richer palettes.
Famous artists running scared as worlds collide.

Rusted and ropy.
Dog-eared old copy.
Vintage and classic,
or just plain Jurassic:
all words to describe me.

Relaxed in the knowledge
that happily present
are all things to sustain me,
nurture and claim me:
roll back the mileage.

You have settled beside me.
To the far and the wide of me.
A matter of choosing,
of finding and losing
on the rough ride with me.

Take whisky with water,
kick stones down the gutter.
Think back to long days with
stale breath recycled in my face.
Rattling through airways -
plastic on cold trays.
Watching through windows,
deep landscapes below
await another time and space.

There must come some time
to walk through the night line.
Hands tight: heads high.
These are the dog-ear years.
Don't turn back. Don't linger.
For God's sake keep moving.
Primitive shadows sidle beside.

Wet wind on the sidewalk: I'm staring at the rain.
Walking up the street, yeah, and walking down again.
And my feet are tired and my brain is numb.
See that broken neon sign saying, hey, in you come.

Got the scent of stale beer hanging, hanging round my head.
Old dog in the corner sleeping like he could be dead.
A book of matches and a full ashtray.
Cigarette left smoking its life away.
Another Harry's bar -- or that's the tale they tell.
But Harry's long gone now, and the customers as well.
Me and the dog and the ghost of Harry will make this world turn right.
It'll all turn right.

God's tears on the sidewalk: it's the mother of all rain.
But in the thick blue haze of Harry's, you will feel no pain.
And you will feel no soft hand slipping on your knee.
You don't have to pay for memories, they will all come free.
Another Harry's bar -- or that's the tale they tell.
But Harry's long gone now, and the customers as well.
Me and the dog and the ghost of Harry will make this world turn right.
It'll all turn right.

Now when Harry was a young man, Harry was so debonair.
He walked a bouncy step in his shiny shoes.
And when Harry was a young man, well, Harry could walk on air.
He mixed a mean cocktail and he talked you through the late news.
You want to hear some great news?
Harry's still here.

Wet wind on the sidewalk: I'm still staring at the rain.
Walking up the street, and I'm walking down again.
And my feet are tired and my brain is numb.
See that broken neon sign saying, hey, in you come.

Another Harry's bar -- or that's the tale they tell.
But Harry's long gone now, and the customers as well.
Me and the dog and the ghost of Harry will make this world turn right.
It'll all turn right.

Another Harry's bar.
And another Harry's bar.
And another, and another Harry's bar.

Small child messing down, messing down.
in the streets of Bombay.
Cities like this have no shame, no shame;
indeed, why should they?
Out in the middle distance, several tragedies are playing.
I'm beside myself.

Big sister, can you hear him, can you hear him?
I'm beside myself.
Big sister, can you see him cry, see him cry?
I'm beside myself.
I saw you taking money in the shadows --
in the shadows by the station there.

I'll wish you up a silver train
to carry you to school, bring you home again.
Strip off that work paint and put a cleaner face on.
I'm beside myself.

Hollow faced mother with her babe in arms,
babe in arms-looks through me.
Behind forgotten charms,
forgotten charms to soothe me.
Between the guilt and charity --
I feel the wimp inside of me.

I'm beside myself.
Out in the middle distance, still more tragedies are playing.
I'm beside myself.

I'm so proud of you --
Swimming up from the deep blue.
Which one of me do you run to?
I'm beside myself.

Small child messing down, messing down.
in the streets of Bombay.
Cities like this have no shame, have no shame;
indeed, why should they?
Out in the middle distance, several tragedies are playing.
I'm beside myself.

Desert candle in a tented space
throwing softer shadows on a covered face.
Sister, silent to the likes of me --
Pay my respects to her propriety.

Is this some crazy woman here,
dancing behind her thin black veil?
Am I misreading those mysterious eyes?
Duet impossible to harmonize.

I'm not inviting any stiff reaction.
I'm not one for naming holy names.
And I won't peek behind those dangerous veils.
Though you might hate me just the same.

Name of the Father ringing in her head --
Thinking over what the prophet said.
Words and tradition bind her in their spell.
Don't drink the water from this holy well.

I'm not inviting any fierce reaction
and I'm not one for naming holy names.
I won't peek behind those dangerous veils.
Though you might hate me just the same.

Desert candle in a tented space
Softer shadows on a covered face.
Sister, silent to the likes of me --
I tip my hat to her propriety.

I'm not inviting any fierce reaction
and I'm not one for naming holy names.
I won't peek behind those dangerous veils.
Though you might hate me just the same.

Glued to the kerbstone, staring.
Frozen at the stop-sign too.
See that crazy suicide mongrel.
He's going to try to cross that avenue.
Old dog of experience,
ripping through the black and yellow cabs,
dodging rickshaws and the bicycle boys.
He's got his mind on someone else's dinner --
Over the road, round the corner, out of the noise.

Lives down in some cool, cool basement --
Sharing with a family of bouncy, ratty little guys
Works to a discipline of ritual undertakings --
Sleep, eat, and gentle exercise
Old dog of experience,
ripping through the black and yellow cabs,
dodging rickshaws and the bicycle boys.
He's got his mind on someone else's dinner --
Over the road, round the corner, out of the noise.

Some towns I know, he could end up in a restaurant --
wrong side of a table for two.
It's enough to send him running, running for cover.
Back into traffic, what's a poor dog to do?
Old mutt of experience,
ripping through the black and yellow cabs,
dodging rickshaws and the bicycle boys.
He's got his mind on someone else's dinner --
Over the road, round the corner, out of the noise.

Rare and precious chain
Do I have to tell you, tell you once again?
Under red lights, on soft nights, it all comes back to you.
Rare and precious chain
Binds me to your soul round gently pulsing veins.
Shackled tight, feel love's bite coming back to you.

No gold of fools.
No hostage taking.
No engagement rules.
To leave you forsaken.

Tiny beads of sweat
thin diamond glistening, glistening around your neck,
forgotten rooms, dark catacombs
they all come back to you.

No crock of glittering prizes.
No sharply worded telegram.
No excuses for the word-weary.
No excuses for who I am.

It's a rare and precious chain.
Around your neck I place it, place it once again.
Drawn finger tight, feel love's bite coming back to you.
Under red lights, on soft nights, it all comes back to you.
Rare and precious chain.

Words get written. Words get twisted.
Old meanings move in the drift of time.
Lift the flickering torches. See gentle shadows change
the features of the faces cut in unmoving stone.
Bad mouth on a prayer day, hope no one's listening.
Roots down in the wet clay, branches glistening.

True disciples carrying that message
to colour just a little with their personal touch.
Home-spun fancy weavers and naked half-believers --
Crusades and creeds descend like fiery flakes of snow.
Bad mouth on a prayer day, hope no one's listening.
Roots down in the wet clay, branches glistening.
Roots to branches
Roots to branches
Roots to branches

In wet and windy priest-holes. Grand in vast cathedrals.
High on lofty minarets or in the temples of doom.
I hope the old man's got his face on.
He'd better be some quick change artist.
Suffer little children to make their minds up soon.
Bad mouth on a prayer day, hope no one's listening.
Roots down in the wet clay, branches glistening.
Roots to branches
Roots to branches
Roots to branches

Roots to branches
Roots to branches
Roots to branches

Brings jasmine tea on a painted tray
and bends to kiss my frown away.
But I'm still still stuck in the August rain;
stuck out in the cloudburst once again.

The cover's on, the coast is clear.
We're all battened down, only us here.
But I'm still still stuck in the August rain;
stuck out in the cloudburst once again.
She walks between the lines
and she can read my signs.

Stuck out in the August rain:
Out in the cloudburst once again.

Single-minded in my gloom.
I appear to revel in this darkened room.
But I'm still still stuck in the August rain;
stuck out in the cloudburst once again.
She walks between the lines
and she can read my signs.

Stuck out in the August rain:
Out in the cloudburst once again.

She peeled from a stretch black snake
which slipped up to the hotel door.
Darting looks from piercing eyes --
The stir of memory and then no more.
Well, you know how I have to believe --
She can almost remember my name.

It's been a long time coming, babe --
Long time loose amongst foreign hills --
Shaking my faith in this free will.

Years ago in a coastal town,
mosquitoes buzzed in her hair.
Schooldress torn and bare feet brown --
Then the rains came and she wasn't there.
You're closing your doors on me
when you had almost remembered my name.

It's been a long time coming, babe --
Long time loose amongst foreign hills --
Shaking my faith in this free will.

Sharp points in an ink black sky --
Faint words collide, then are lost.
I'll follow you beneath this dome --
Win you back at any cost.
I know we were children then,
but you can almost remember my name.

It's been a long time coming, babe --
Long time loose amongst foreign hills --
Well, let's be children still --
Don't shake my faith in this free will.

Don't shake my faith in this free will.

Wake hard in the morning.
See the young girl milking.
Stream rushing by on a bed of stone.
Old goats and sandstone cracking --
All containing --
Squeezing that river like it squeeze your bones.
In the long red, red valley people live here too long.
In the long red, red valley they only sing the valley song.

Some bad people living further down the valley,
Not easy for us to do good trade.
We got snowmelt, snowmelt sweet water.
They got that valley road that they made.
In the long red, red valley people dying here too long.
In the long red, red valley they only sing the valley song.

Holding hands on the hillside.
Showing love to your brother --
your sister and your mother --
but we hate those people down the valley.

Has anybody seen Moses?
Get him off that mountain.
Bring back the tablets of stone.
It's a wise, wise prophet who keeps his own council.
Yeah, leave the other man's wife alone.
In the long red, red valley people live here too long.
In the long red, red valley they only sing the valley song.

Wake hard in the morning.
See the young girl milking.
Stream rushing by on a bed of stone.
Old goats and sandstone cracking --
All containing --
Squeezing that river like it squeeze your bones.
In the long red, red valley people living here too long.
In the long red, red valley they only live the valley song.
In the long red, red valley people dying here too long.
In the long red, red valley they only know the valley song.

A walk on the quiet side, late in the day --
Don't mean to get in anybody's way.
The Gods seem willing: sun's in the sky.
Old crows cawing as the straight crows fly.
There was a time when love was the law.
There was a time for the tooth and the claw.
Last rites given, no holds barred.
Heaven Express on my credit card.

Now let me draw the jungle line --
I won't cross yours if you don't cross mine.
Won't make trouble, I don't need no fuss.
But I'm wounded, old and I'm treacherous.

Allow me to draw the jungle line --
you cross it once, you cross some friends of mine.
They won't make trouble, they don't need no fuss
but they're wounded, old and they're treacherous.

In the crisp of evening, on sacred ground --
Ghosts of fathers pushing moonbeams round.
Big cats prowling inside your head --
They left for China; better left for dead.

Let me draw the jungle line --
I won't cross yours if you don't cross mine.
Won't make trouble, I don't need no fuss.
But I'm wounded, old and I'm treacherous.

A walk on the quiet side, late in the day --
Don't mean to get in anybody's way.
The Gods seem willing: sun's in the sky.
Old crows cawing as the straight crows fly.
There was a time when love was the law.
There was a time for the tooth and the claw.
Last rites given, no holds barred.
Heaven Express on my credit card.

living mountains going to shake that town --
big mother calling you from underground.
She don't want trouble, she don't need no fuss.
But she's wounded, old and treacherous.

I've been treated for mild depression
and I've been treated for growing pains.
I've been treated for hallucinations;
now I can see it all coming again.
Well, you can wind me up. Yeah, you can slow me down.
You can dig a little, and you can mess me around.
But there's one thing I should tell you, to which
you must agree:
There's no use you playing doctor to my disease.
Said it's no use you playing doctor to my disease.

I got no cure for this condition
that you've been causing me tonight.
Well, you put my heart in overdrive:
hand me the bullet I must bite.
You can stir me up and you can cut me down.
You can probe a little, push that knife around.
But there's one thing I should tell you, to which
you must agree:
It's no use you playing doctor to my disease.

Do you have to break my engine
so you can fix it up again?
Tuned to crazy imperfection
just to score me out of ten.
Well, you can wind me up. Yeah, you can slow me down.
You can dig a little. Yeah, you can mess me around.
But there's one thing I should tell you, to which
you must agree:
That it's no use you playing doctor to my disease.

In the dark of the city backwoods, something stirs then slips away.
Law and order in darkest Knightsbridge. Crime and punishment at play.
Hey, Mr. Policeman won't you come on over. Hook me up to the power lines
of your love.
Jump start, or tow me away.

And through the bruised machinery, the smoking haze of industry.
Another day with ball and chain. I do my time, then home again.
Hey, Mrs. Maggie won't you come on over. Hook me up to the power lines
of your love.
Jump start, or tow me away.

Well, should I blame the officers? Or maybe, I should blame the priest?
Or should I blame the poor foot soldier
who's left to make the most from least?
Hey, Jack Ripper won't you come on over. Hook me up to the power lines
of your love.
Jump start, or tow me away.

You can blame the newsman talking at you on the satellite T.V.
And if you're fighting for your shipyards, you might as well just blame the sea.
Hey, Mr. Weatherman come on over. Hook me up to the power lines
of your love.
Jump start, or tow me away.

Well, I don't care to eat out in smart restaurants.
I'd rather do a Vindaloo: take away is what I want.
I was down at the old Bengal, having telephoned a treat
when I saw her framed in the kitchen door.
She looked good enough to eat.
(And I mean eat.)
She was a tall thin girl.
She looked like a tall thin girl.
She said, Whose is this carry-out?
My face turned chilli red.
Well, I don't know about carrying out,
but you can carry me off to bed.
(And I mean bed.)
She was a tall thin girl.
She moved like a tall thin girl.
Maybe I can fetch for it,
and maybe I can stretch for it.

I may not be a fat man and I'm not exactly small
but when it all comes down, couldn't stand my ground.
This girl was tall.
(And I mean tall.)

Big boy Doane, he's a drummer. Don't play no tambourine
but he's Madras hot on the bongo trot,
if you know just what I mean.
Stands six foot three in his underwear;
going to get him down here and see
if this good lady's got a little sister 'bout the same size as me.
She was a tall thin girl.
She looked like a tall thin girl.
Well, can I fetch for it?
Well, maybe I can stretch for it?
Well, am I up for it? Or do I have to go down for it?

I could he sitting on the left of you.
You'd be looking straight ahead.
If I was adrift right across from you,
You still would cut me dead.
I've had better deep discussions
With this plate of soft-shelled crab.

I'd put some spice in your rice.
You'd give me blues in the stew.
I'd give you catfish jumping.
You'd give me all this work to do.
Who's got the cheque on this hot dinner?
Who's got the tabs on the crab?



Another night in the wilderness:
Should have been a night on the town.
Lesson in learning how to hold a conversation down.
I'm in splendid isolation, feel that heavy silence fall.
Got all this cut out for me to do.
Another night in the wilderness of you.

Here I am drinking you with my eyes.
You're looking at the gravy on my bib.
I go weak-kneed at the suggestion of you.
What's wrong with the cut of my jib?
Is there a lobster in the offing, or just a fifty dollar cheque?

Well, you got a big-jib crane waiting to pick you up.
Mmmm, you see those snakes that crawl, they're just dying
to trip you up.
Live out in sad shacks at the back of town.
Hold your breath while we do you down
'cos we're all kinds of animals coming here:
occasional demons too.

Well, you got a nice apartment here with appliances and CD.
We're gonna leave your stereo, but we'll have your soul for tea.
I'm not speaking of material things.
Gonna chew you up, gonna suck you in
'cos we're all kinds of animals coming here:
occasional demons too.

Smokestacks, belching black, we're the have-nots in your shade.
How about a slice of life, how about some
human trade?
Eat at the best table in town.
No headwaiter going to turn us down
'cos we're all kinds of animals coming here:
occasional demons too.

There's a black cat down on the quayside.
Ship's lights, green eyes glowing in the dark.
Two young cops handing out a beating:
know how to hurt and leave no mark.
Down in the half-lit bar of the hotel
there's a call for the last round of the day.
Push back the stool, take that elevator ride.
Fall in bed and kick my shoes away.
Rocks on the road.

Can't sleep through the wild sound of the city.
Hear a car full of young boys heading for a fight.
Long distance telephone keeps ringing out engaged:
wonder who you're talking with tonight.
Who you talking with tonight?
Rocks on the road.

Tired plumbing wakes me in the morning.
Shower runs hot, runs cold playing with me.
Well, I'm up for the down side, life's a bitch
and all that stuff:
so come and shake some apples from my tree.
Have to pay for my minibar madness.
Itemised phone bill overload.
Well now, how about some heavy rolling?
Move these rocks on the road.

Crumbs on the breakfast table.
And a million other little things to spoil my day.
Now how about a little light music
to chase it all away?
To chase it all away.

There's a black cat down on the quayside.
Ship's lights, green eyes glowing in the dark.
Two young cops handing out a beating:
know how to hurt and leave no mark.
Down in the half-lit bar of the hotel
there's a call for the last round of the day.
Push back the stool, take that elevator ride.
Fall in bed and kick my shoes away.
Kick my shoes away, kick my shoes away.
Rocks on the road.

Roll yer own. Don't mean you got no money.
Only that you got no opportunity to shake it with that friend of mine.
Roll yer own if you can't buy readymade;
you won't be satisfied when you feel the sudden need
to unwind.
You know what moves you in the wee hours
when there's nothing on the answerphone.
And if you don't get enough of that electric love
don't try to get by ---
roll yer own, roll it when there's no-one listening:
when those re-runs play on the late-night
black and white TV.
Roll yer own, roll it when there's something missing
and those wild cats howl, running in the moonshine.

Roll yer own: you got to hit that spot.
Roll yer own when your hands are hot.

Her love is like a candle: you light it up at night.
Her heart is like a pack of cards: one chance to guess it right.
Sometimes I do.
She's got a tongue like a viper, but she can whisper like a dove.
Soft touch like brushed velvet: till she hits you from above.
And sometimes she does.

She leaves me breathing: down like a fallen log.
Just when I feel like dancing
I wake up sleeping with the dog.
And it goes: (woof) sleeping with the dog.

I have to guess at the mysteries of her unfathomable soul.
Guess when the time seems right
to make a broken spirit whole
and that time is due. C'm'on.

She leaves me breathing: down like a fallen log
and just when I feel like dancing
I wake up sleeping with the dog.
And it goes: (woof) sleeping with the dog.

You want to be a bookworm? You wanna be aloof?
You wanna sit in judgement, looking down from the roof?
Try a wee sensation: but first you have to want to join in.
You should be, should be raging down the freeway
with some friends from the mall.
Don't stay forever in your limbo: fly before you fall
little sparrow on the schoolyard wall.

So dress a little dangerous and modify your walk.
There's nothing wrong with sparrows, but try
to be a sparrowhawk.
Hunting in the evening and floating in the heat in the day.
You might, might acquire some predatory instinct.
Do the wolf pack crawl.
Don't stay forever in your limbo: fly before you fall
little sparrow on the schoolyard wall.

Well, I don't want to be your daddy.
Don't want to be your engineer of sin.
And I don't want to play the piper here.
I'm only banging on a mandolin
and anyway, you're just a little sparrow
on the schoolyard wall.

There's nothing wrong with learning. Nothing wrong
with your books.
So exercise some judgement. Too much broth can spoil the cook.
Feel a little sensation and know when it's time to join in.
You should be, should be raging down the freeway
with some friends from the mall.
Don't stay forever in your limbo: fly before you fall
little sparrow on the schoolyard wall.

It's a lonely life I live and I live this life to go
and if I leave you with one thing it's just that I want
you to know
I'll still be loving you tonight.

I left flowers on your table, left the lock on your door.
Staked a claim in your heartlands, put grain in your store.
I'll still be loving you tonight.
Got fingers on the button of that telephone dial.
Call in and move your mountains, fill your spaces while
I'm still loving you tonight.

You want to know how I can leave you?
How can I move along this way?
Too much of a good thing can make you crazy
and it's a good thing that happened to me today.
I'll still be loving you tonight.

All of you sit up in bed. Don't think in straight lines ahead.
Can't sleep? Head spin? Don't think in circles, it'll do you in.
Think back to the dream you had; no sense of being good or bad.
Jump to the left, jump to the right. Think round corners into night.

Let's go in wet corridors: dive down drains.
Draw strength from machinery, it's al] the same.
Thinking round corners. Think round corners, I say.

Pretty girl with neon eyes: best man between white thighs.
Bridegroom didn't know a thing: got his love in lights,
she wears two rings.
Think back to that dream you had.
Blue boy sorry, pink girl sad.
Yellow cow, big-eyed moon all coming round the corner soon.

Let's stand in rapids: cling to carnivals.
Spit life from the maypole in savage ceremony.
Let's go in wet corridors: dive down drains.
Draw strength from machinery, it's all the same.
Thinking round corners. Think round corners, I say.

Paper cowboys, tin drums banging where the white man comes.
Landowners with whips and chains but soft in bed amidst
warm rains.
Thinking back to the dream they had. Jack and Jill.
Jack the lad.
Homestead. Home free. How about leaving some for me?

Let's bathe in malt whisky: covet gold finery
through the eyes of a Jackdaw, dressed to the nines.
Let's go in wet corridors: dive down drains.
Draw strength from machinery, it's all the same.
Thinking round corners. Think round corners, I say.
Thinking round corners.

Winds howled, rains spit down.
All these nights playing precious games.
Cheap hotel in some seaboard town
Closed down for the winter and whispered names.
Puppy-dog waves on a big moon sea
Snapped our heels half-heartedly.
How come you know better than me that this is not love?
No, this is not love.

Empty drugstore, postcards freeze
Sunburst images of summers gone.
Think I see us in these promenade days
Before we learned October's song.
Out on the headland, one gale-whipped tree -
Curious, head bent to see.
How come you know better than me that this is not love?
No, this is not love.
This is not love, yeah.

How come you know better than me,
Well, how come you know better than me.
So how come you know better than me that this is not love?
This is not love.

Down to the sad south, smoky plumes
Mark that real world city home.
Broken spells and silent gloom
Ooze from that concrete honeycomb.
Puppy-dog waves on a big moon sea
Snapped our heels half-heartedly.
And how come you know better than me that this is not love?
No, this is not love.
No, this is not love.
This is not love, this is not love, this is not love.

I was in my watering-hole with some ugly friends of mine
when he door came off its hinges like a cork from fizzy wine.
He said, My name is Jesus: I'm the leader of the band.
Got to set up my equipment, if you boys can lend a hand.
Oh yeah. When Jesus came to play.

He set that bandstand jumping. Yeah, and he cranked it up so loud.
And he moved up to the microphone: had the attention of the crowd.
He said, My name is Jesus: going to turn your head around.
I'm going to make this easy. Got no time to mess around.
Oh yeah. When Jesus came to play.

I got no twelve disciples, and I got no cross to bear.
If you thought they had me crucified, I guess you weren't there.
Oh yeah. When Jesus came to play. When Jesus came...

He sang about three or four numbers, but we'd heard it all before.
We boys were getting restless: no girls were moving on the floor.
Those parables, they were merciless and the tables overturned.
And there were no minor miracles
but false prophets they were burned.
Well, maybe he was Jesus;
but his hair could have used a comb.
Long before he hit the last notes, we boys had all gone home.
Oh yeah. When Jesus came to play.

Oh Jesus, is it really you?

She drifted from some minor festival.
Didn't look like any sumrner of love:
just a thousand weekend warriors in a muddy field.
She was the hand to fit my glove.
Funny thing, the innocence of the lonely.
Funny thing, the charm of the young.

See how she moves just like two angels (in white innocence).
Yet one of them is on the run.
The other's tapping at my car window
and I'm squinting through the sun
trying to see if she's some child of the nineties:
or just another dangerous fantasy of mine.
Yeah. White innocence.
She was white innocence.

A perfect hole was in her stocking:
it made a perfect window to her heart.
I could have moved among her waterfalls:
her misty curtains drawn apart.
Did she see warm safety in my numbers
to want to hitch a ride this way?
Felt like I was taking her to market now
to be sold as the last lot of the day.
Funny thing, the distance of the lonely.
Funny thing, the charm of the young.
White innocence.

She pressed the button, lowered the window:
let her hand trail in the slipstream of the night.
A frost from nowhere seemed to lick her fingers:
I could have warmed them, but the moment wasn't right.
Obvious, she was headed nowhere special:
yes, well it was even obvious to me.
I was doing some, some watching, some waiting:
she'd been here before, most definitely.

There was the promise of early bed-time.
There was the promise of heaven on earth.
Think I was sending out low-voltage electricity:
played it right down for what it was worth.
She turned and looked at me in white innocence
and with the clearest eyes of forever grey
she rested one small hand for a second on my knee:
I stopped the car. She walked away.
Funny thing, the wisdom of the lonely.
Funny thing, the charm of the young.
Away you go now.
White innocence.

Hope everybody's ringing on their own bell this fine morning
Hope everyone's connected to that long distance phone
Old man he's a mountain
Old man he's an island
Old man he's a-waking says
"I'm going to call, call all my children home"

Hope everybody's dancing to their own drum this fine morning
The beat of distant Africa or a Polish factory town
Old man he's calling for his supper
Calling for his whisky
Calling for his sons and daughters, yeah
Calling, calling all his children round

Sharp ears are tuned in to the drones and chanters warming
Mist blowing round some headland, somewhere in your memory
Everyone is from somewhere
Even if you've never been there
So take a minute to remember the part of you
That might be the old man calling me

How many wars you fighting out there this winter's morning?
Maybe there's always time for another christmas song
Old man is asleep now
Got appointments to keep now
Dreaming of his sons and daughters, and proving
Proving that the blood is strong

Marty loved the sound of the stolen mandolin.
Somebody took it on a dare in the night-time.
Run up to the radio, calling out to the wind.
Now, bring it, bring it back at least an hour before flight time.
It was a souvenir, but it was a right arm missing.
Swap a woodwork rhythm for a humbucking top line.

Big Riff, rough boy, wants to be a singer in a band.
A little slow in the brain box, but he had a quick right hand.
Run left, run right --- everywhere he look ---
nobody watching, no, but that was
all he took last night.

Running on the power of a stolen mandolin.
Steal a little inspiration. Steal a little muscle.
Will he wake in the morning, wondering --- was it really worth it?
So make a little deal, Yeah, make a little hustle.

Ringing on the radio --- got a proposition for those English boys.
I'll make the sing-song --- you can make the background noise.
One, two, three, four --- one bar and in.
Give you back the mando, if you'll let this singer sing tonight.

Marty loved the sound of the stolen mandolin.
Big Riff took it on a dare in the night-time.
Now it's four o'clock, and we're waiting at the sound-check.
Looking for a face staring in from the sunshine.
We got two strong lawmen from the sheriff's office.
They're going to lift Big Riff before he plays the first line.

Big Riff, rough boy, wants to be a singer in a band.
Yeah, help him on the stage now, put that microphone in his hand.
Think hard, think right --- nothing in his mind ---
So Riff did a runner, but he left the mandolin behind.

Once in Royal David's City
Stood a lonely cattle shed,
Where a mother held her baby.
You'd do well to remember the things he later said.
When you're stuffing yourselves at the Christmas parties,
You'll just laugh when I tell you to take a running jump.
You're missing the point I'm sure does not need making
That Christmas spirit is not what you drink.

So how can you laugh when your own mother's hungry,
And how can you smile when the reasons for smiling are wrong?
And if I just messed up your thoughtless pleasures,
Remember, if you wish, this is just a Christmas song.

(Hey! Santa! Pass us that bottle, will you?)

In the late hours of a sunset rendezvous ---
chill breeze against tide, that carries me from you.
Got a job in a southern city --- got some lead-free in my tank.
Now I must whisper goodbye --- I'm bound for the mainland.

Island in the city, Cut by a cold sea.
People moving on an ocean. Groundswell of humanity.

Now the sum breaks through rain as I climb Glen Shiel
on the trail of those old cattlemen who drove their bargain south again.
And in the eyes of those five sisters of Kintail
there's a wink of seduction from the mainland.

Island in the city. Cut by a cold sea.
People moving on an ocean. Groundswell of humanity.
Storm-lashed on the high-rise --- their words are spray to the wind.
Blown like silent laughter. Falling on ears of tin.

Take my heart and take my brawn.
Take by stealth or take by storm ---
set my brain to cruise.
I can see the glow of the suburb lights.
I'm fresh from the out-world ---
singing the mainland blues.

There was a girl where I came from.
Seems a long time, long time gone by.
Wears the west wind in her hair.
She calls from the hill --- yeah, she calls
in my mainland blues.

There's a coast road that winds to heaven's door
where a fat ferry floats on muted diesel roar.
And there's a light on the hillside --- and there's a flame in her
eyes, but how cold the lights burn on the mainland.

Island in the city. Cut by a cold sea.
People moving on an ocean. Groundswell of humanity.
Storm-lashed on the high-rise --- their words are spray to the wind.
Blown like silent laughter. Falling on ears of tin
in my mainland blues.

I walked out in the city night,
A burning in my eyes, like it was broad daylight.
And it was hot, down there in the crowd.
The stars went out behind a thunder cloud.
Chatter in the air, like a telegraph line.
Big drops hissing on the neon sign.
Thumping in my heart, and it's hurting me to see.
Smokestack blowing, now they're pouring
Heavy water on me.

She was a southern girl. we stared man to man.
I move like a stranger in this strange land.
She was a round hole, I was a square peg.
I watched the little black specks running down her leg.
Didn't seem to mind that dirty rain coming down ---


Shirt hanging open. she was wet and brown.
Thumping in my heart, and it's hurting me to see.
Smokestack blowing, now they're pouring
Heavy water on me.

What goes up has to fall back down.
It's no night to be out dancing in a party town
When it runs hot and it runs so wide ---
Running in the street like a thin black tide.
Chatter in the air, like a telegraph line.
Big drops hissing on the neon sign.
Thumping in my heart, and it's hurting me to see.
Smokestack blowing, now they're pouring
Heavy water on me.

Breaking hearts in a market town. She eats filet of sole
and washes it down with sparkling wine.
Nice girl, but a bad girl's better. Qualifies in both ways
to my mind. But now she's kissing Willie.

She shows a leg --- shows it damn well. Knows how to drive a man
right back to being a child.
Well, she's a --- nice girl, but her bad girl's better. I can read
it in her cheating eyes and know that in a while --- Well,
she'll be kissing Willie. (My best friend, Willie.)

Willie stands and Willie falls. Willie bangs his head
behind grey factory walls.
She's a --- nice girl, but her bad girl's better. Me and Willie
just can't help come, when she calls.
Now she's kissing Willie. (My best friend, Willie.)

In the shuffling madness
Of the locomotive breath
Runs the all time loser
Headlong to his death
Oh, he feels the pistons screaming
Steam breaking on his brow
Old Charlie stole the handle
And the train it won't stop going
No way to slow down

He sees his children jumpin’ off
At stations one by one
His woman and his best friend
In bed and having fun
So he's crawling down the corridor
On his hands and knees
Old Charlie stole the handle
And the train it won't stop going
No way to slow down

He hears the silence howling
Catches angels as they fall
And the all time winner
Has got him by the balls
Oh, he picks up Gideon's Bible
Open at page one
I think God, he stole the handle
And the train it won't stop going
No way to slow down

No way to slow down
No way to slow down
No way to slow down
No way to slow down

Savage night on a misty island. Lights wink out in the
canyon walls.
Two old boys in a stolen racer. Black rubber contrails in
the unwashed halls.
And all roads out of here, seem to lead right back to the
Rock Island.

I've gone back to Paris, London, and even riding on a
jumbo to Bombay.
The long haul back holds faint attraction, but the people
here know they're o.k.
See the girl following the red balloon: walking all alone
on her Rock Island.

Doesn't everyone have their own Rock Island? Their own little
patch of sand?
Where the slow waves crawl and your angels fall and you find
you can hardly stand.
And just as you're drowning, well, the tide goes down.
And you're back on your Rock Island.

Hey there girlie with the torn dress, shaking: who was it
touched you? Who was it ruined your day?
Whose footprint calling card? And what they want, stepping
on your beach anyway?
I'll be your life raft out of here, but you'd only drift right
back to your Rock Island.

Hey, boy with the personal stereo: nothing 'tween the ears
but that hard rock sound.
Playing to your empty room, empty guitar tune, No use waiting
for that C.B.S. to come around.
'Cos all roads out of here, seem to lead right back to your
Rock Island.

Strange avenues where you lose all sense of direction
and everywhere is Main Street in the winter sun.
The wino sleeps --- cold coat lined with he money section.
Looking like a a record cover from 1971.

And here am I --- warm feet and a limo waiting.
Shall I make us both feel good? And would a dollar do?
But in your streets, I have no credit rating
and it might not take a lot to be alone just like you.

Heading up and out now, from your rock island.
Really good to have had you here with me.
And somewhere in the crowd I think I hear a young girl whisper
Are you ever lonely, just like me?

Got a hair shirt round my shoulder. Got a cold stew in my spoon.
And I'm falling on my head, lifting feet of lead ---
now it's got me baying at the moon.
Well, there's a race on for tomorrow. I'm stretching out
for what might have been.
Going to come out from the night, got my second sight ---
play rough --- you know what I mean.
I'm going for the kill. I'm going tooth and nail
up that dusty hill --- on the rattlesnake trail.

Got the law laid down to the left of me. Got the real world to the right.
Heading up through the middle with my cat and my fiddle ---
yeah, looking for a fight.
Going to ride hard in bandit country --- on the blind side of the bend.
Keep my nose to the wind while the rabbit's skinned ---
bed down at the journey's end. (Be a rattlesnake.)
I'm going for the kill. I'm going tooth and nail
up that dusty hill --- on the rattlesnake trail.

The rattlesnake trail.
I'm going on the rattlesnake trail.

Going to be with wolves in winter --- run in angry packs by day.
But when you give a dog a bone, he has to be alone ---
growl, keep the other dogs away.
See that thin moon on the mountain. See that cold star in the sky.
Going to bring them down --- shake them to the ground ---
put that apple in the pie. (Be a rattlesnake.)
I'm going for the kill. I'm going tooth and nail
up that dusty hill --- on the rattlesnake trail.

Working on the late shift --- first drink of the day.
Pull a chair up to the table, have to look the other way.
What kind of place am I in? And who's this over here?
Shaking through the silver bubbles climbing through my beer.
Won't let it move me, but I can't sit still.
Could you meet the eyes of a working girl
undressed to kill?

Staring through the smoke haze --- plaid shirts in the night.
Well, I'm making sure that everything is zipped up tight.
Who's that jumping on the table? Putting tonic in my gin?
Brushing silken dollars on her cold white skin.
Won't let it move me, but I can't sit still.
Could you meet the eyes of a working girl
undressed to kill?

She could have been sweet seventeen. There again, well, so could I.
There was a tear drop sparkle on the inside of her thigh.
Going to fetch myself a cold beer. I've got to get a grip.
Find some place to touch down. Find a landing strip.
Won't let it move me, but I can't sit still.
Can you meet the eyes of a working girl
all undressed to kill?

Last one out is a cold duck. Padding down the road.
I wait outside, my motor running --- got a warm dream to unload.
Can I face her in the sunshine? In he harsh real light of day?
She walks out with recognition in her eyes --- I look away.
Won't let it move me, but I can't sit still.
Couldn't meet the eyes of a working girl
undressed to kill.