On the crest of a wave
a shadow of a girl along the shore
all the footprints leading home
On the breath of the wind
the name of a girl along the sky-ways
all the clouds are turning grey
In a sudden glimpse of summer
all broken mirrors of the sea
are showing me the sky
all broken mirrors showing me the sea
In the palm of my hand
a portrait of a girl in black and white
while the sun burns through her hair
In a sudden glimpse of summer
all broken mirrors that are me
are showing me the girl
all broken mirrors showing me
Angel's
song: "Dear Elvis Presley…"
Dear Elvis Presley we love
you so much
That is to say, me and my mum
she said you could come home and live here in Clapham
Oh, we could have such fun
Dear Elvis Presley my dad
said it's all right
that you can have me in marriage
I swear I've not been touched by any person
only Bill in Harwich
Dear Elvis Presley it's
all been arranged
That is to say, Aunt Bertha can come
mum said we could live in their front and back room
Oh, we could have such fun
Dear Elvis Presley, my dress
is so white
mum says I'm pretty - well, maybe
My dad says please come, he quite likes your new record
besides, I'm having your baby…
Nursey,
Nursey
All the skirts of the night
are ruffled and torn
Valentinos are painting your mirrors black
In the eye of the glass the wine makes you blind
The nurse administers the final lash
From the cripples' cupboard
your lover doth creep
Both his hands are tied to the lid of your bed
from his over-size pocket a newspaper hangs
The nurse makes a list of all that's been said
"Oh, Nursey, Nursey!"
you cry so low
"Take me in and don't let me go
"Teach my lover patiently
"Oh, Nursey, Nursey please take me."
From the wide open door
a picture of screams
All the orchestra turns to look down the hall
A painting crashes from the wall to the floor
The nurse hums a tune as she hears you call
The violins echo in the
cup of your ear
and spill down your cheek as the nurse hovers near
Your lover like snow on
the white marble floor
Kisses the doctor as he fills in a form
While a youth dressed as 'winter' stands next in line
The nurse, with a smile, makes sure that you're warm
Small
Song - Heaven in the back row
Someone is waiting to talk
to you
All the owrds that have never been said
Only a line tucked away in his head
Wanting so badly to be with
you
Asking for nothing and taking home
Frightened that you would make fun
Holding the door open quietly
His heart pounds away in the hall of his chest
Trying so hard to look his best
He's waiting like fire beside
your stream
two picture tickets and a tab of ice-cream
Living at last in a recurring dream
Heaven int the back row
A king with his hand upon your knee
Burning
Bright
Come lay upon my bed
the light of day departs
Velvet draped filled windows
While midnight fills your heart
Come close your heavy eyes
The pillow 'neath your head
Your skin as whitre as candle-wax
Melt within my bed
Play to you, oh, strings
of the night
Lay with you, oh, burning bright
Lay light enough to float
And dream that you can fly
Above me or below me
On whispers of a sigh
Here - burning bright
And everywhere, everywhere
The
Matchseller
My jevel-thief is smiling
like lady with child
I remember the scent of his laughter
Your daughter has fallen and asked me to come
But the bridge on my shoulder is narrow
I am a wave on the shore
of your breast
I am a hand across the sun
Your daughter has come and asked me to speak
But the bridge on my shoulder trembles
Accept my regrets, I am
broken inside
A newspaper patchwork-like overcoat
The matches I sell are for you alone
Tell me the fires are good
Tell me my love-hands are wood
Lady of bedroom and princess
of street
Touch lightly the skin of the stranger
Your daughter has stolen the jewel from the thief
But the bridge on my shoulder holds
Accept my regrets, I spoke
from inside
A newspaper patchwork-like overcoat
The matches I sold you were second-hand
Tell me the wires are bare
Tell me my love-hands will dare
The
coronation of the Fledging
Pass the rope, there is
no hope
The hills are turning maroon
Sight the ship, prepare to lift
The Fledging enters the room
Pass the rope then sink
the boat
The King has covered the Queen
against the wall our names are called
The Fledging alters the scene
The valley looks deep from
the top of the hill
and the shadows are all painted with strokes
thet have nowhere to go
Pass the rope, prepare to
float
Someone is waving a hand
Down below the trumpets blow
The Fledging strikes up the band
Pass the rope, there is
no hope
The hills are turning maroon
Down below the trumpets blow
The Fledging gallops like God.
All
hail to the hero
How much has he changed
In a year - or is it two?
All that has been done
Has all been done for you
Look across the fields
To the hero's battleground
Though we lose a village
The world has been found
You'll see - so let us sing:
Another race is won
Sing all hail to the hero
The good deed has been done
Sing all hail and God speed to the hero
White
Faced Lady
White Faced Lady dance for
me the night smells deep of mistery
The ahtray's dead, the smoke is done, but left it's mark on everyone
Take the arrow and the spear, the light, the ice, the mirrorclear
Take the beggar's copper cup, make the lonely thief give up
White Faced Lady your lover's
dead, pools of crimson beneath his head
Oh, what a farce this tragedy, your footsteps there accusing me
Alas I lay awake all day thinking you might pass this way
What a shame the laughs have gone: the ashtray's dead, the smoke is done
Deathly cold this cinema
The screen at last come clean
A thousand seats of emptiness
Between your bed and me
White Faced Lady look my
way, dwarf by night, but king by day
The table's full, the glasses filled, the carpet laid across the hill
Step out of your ocean-world, leave the curtains half unfurled
Take this beggar's empty cup, make this lonely thief give up.
Freefall
Let your skirt be a cloud
for I am the Rainmaker, Thunder-Mouth
All the pain of the night curled up in the sheets of the sky
From an unbroken dream we'll step naked to the shore of this coastline
Afraid to awake, not ashamed by the shape that we're in
Let your blouse be a breeze
for I am the hand of the sky-ways
Your body will shine with the unprepared colours of dawn
The wind will appear as a girl in a Joan of Arc nightdress
She will kiss you and ask you to follow the flames of the storm
Let the minutes be hours
that the seconds are days
That turn slowly to months and leave you amazed
As you sleep on your own in the eye of the crowd
The wind in your hair - the rain in your cloud
Freefall
Let your body be free for
I am the window-less window
All the streams of the day are turning to rivers of night
Your clothes float away to the rhythm of un-rhythmic heartbeats
All the knots are undone as you open at last - Freefall
Time is a bridge to be washed
away
Everything floats - so they say
Standing
23 years standing here with
one foot in the road
Man in a suit in a wheelchair, finger in the air
Wondering which the traffic flows
Nobody knows
Forty-six years standing
here one hand across the sun
Man on his knees trying to please just succeeds in a sneeze
They should be giving away guns
Nobody runs
Sixty-four years laying
here head up against the wall
Girl with a phone like a black bone gets a ringing tone
Nobody's in, nobody wins - nobody wins
Who cares ?
Diary
Song: The Indian Head
I've been in the river up
to my heels
I've seen you on the lawn: I know how that feels
The indian head is weighing me down
I'm up to my knees, but I'm afraid I might drown
The 'halfway' station is
just left of here
I've a one-way ticket to anywhere
My eyes are burning in Indian Head
The freeway is moving, but the sign is still red
The fences are down, the
fields are blown dry
Connections are cut and you'd better not try
The wheels are on fire and the rivers have gone
The Indian Head has proved we're wrong
I'll tell them all about
your lawn
The night when your pettycoat got torn
And how you begged for release
Do not tie your hair in
ribbons no more
Don't go to bed without opening your door
The Indian Head on a jar on your shelf
Do not give it away and do not use it yourself
Song
From Jon
There's a road on my forehead
that's leading away from all this
There's a wheel in my pocket and forged on my face there's a kiss
Like some old-fashioned soldier I'm smiling at the sight of your breasts
But the battle's not over, I agree, but I guess it's for the best
"There's no trees in
your forest" you once said to me out quite loud
But I saw through the make-up of smoke on the face of your crowd
Not wanting to argue, not wishing to butter my words
With a twist of the toothbrush, I agree, I looked most absurd
I loved you in harmony,
deep in the chords of your tune
But the rhymes all got lost between yesterday's milk and the moon
With paper and pen I tried hard to look like a king
What a shame I forgot that the jester's the one who must sing
Awash on the screen you
spread like a cloud
But in bedrooms and parlours you merged into the crowd
In the folds of your dress
I would die and be born in an hour
From the valley of night like an ebony mountain we'd tower
And the smile on your face that crawled up from the sides of your mouth
Would relight all the fires that I tried so hard to put out
With razor-blade key-chains and paper swim-suits in the rain
You made fun of my poems and treated my love like a game
There's a road on my forehead that's leading away from all this
There's a wheel in my pocket and forged on my face there's a kiss
Awash on the screen you
spread like a cloud
But the birds in the sky were just cigarette smoke from the crowd
Long
Way Down
Lights along the highway
sharper than the sky
Madmen in the cafes saying I should die
Wheels forever turning, but never touching ground
It's a long way up, but it's a long way down
Hands with just one finger
pointing at my face
Joltin' Joe diMaggio can take my place
The cigarette I smoke has been seen around
It's a long way up, but it's a long way down
Roadhouse friends, shaking
my hands, making my plans
Telling me which hat to wear
As if either of us care
Songs within the juke-box:
the latest pauper band
Sea-bird dead and twisted, long amongst the sand
Me screaming at the mirror that never makes a sound
It's a long way up, but it's a long way down
The
Locket
Newspaper pictures pinned
to a wall
In a room where a candle has melted away
Paperbacks open at page twenty-one
A dozen ashtrays, or perhaps a few more
Over and over she sits just
repeating her name
Over and under her fingers in the locket chain
Photographs albums discarder
and worn
Next to bibles that lay next to magazines
Deep velvet dresses all faded and creased
In a pile in the corner by the mirror
Over and over she sits just
repeating his name
Over and under her hair all caught up in the chain
As she sings:
"Mirror me, mirror be something he is
"Come step through the glass to my room
"mirror me, mirror be something he is
"Jon, come sing my tune."
Golden the locket his face
like a sixpence
Faded and white in the palm of her hand
Cleaning it now with the cuff of her blouse
As a tear stains a sudden smile
Over and over she sits just
repeating her song
Over and under her harmony stumbling along
As she sings
Picture
with conversation
She never left a penny
She'd only read the local paper
She didn't mean to live so long, she said
Her brother came down from
Bradford
He drank a pint as he watched her go
She left the cat and the dog to him, she said
The window looked out
As a square of sky looked in
And her brother snored
But didn't dream of anything
He went away on Monday
The cat and dog he sold in Bradford
She would have wanted it that way, he said
She never left a penny
She never moved very fast at all
She didn't mean to live so long, she said
Epitaph:
Angel
With your laugh like rain
that carried you away
And all of those words that you just couldn't say
And the way that you fell at the end of each day
What a shame that your bed was so empty
With your friends and your
foes that stooid at your hand
And your village physician that drew dreams in the sand
And the "Prince of Pleasure" who was more than a man
What a shame that no one remembers you
With your hands and birds
and your fears like glass
And the midnight race where you always came last
And the painting you stole because you said it had class
What a shame it was all without value
With your style of life
a hundred years old
And your crimson nightdress we agreed was so bold
And the heat of your kiss that alas felt so cold
What a shame your innocence was so real
With your fears of yourself
that you could not disarm
Our collection of children that meant you no harm
And the look on your face at that first false alarm
What a shame you were taken for granted
With your hand at the helm
on your journey to Nice
Where the cripples and criminals were begging release
And the priest that ran naked through their paper-white streets
What a shame you were so honest
With your family crest that
you wore like a scar
And your thirst for perfection that you took much too far
And your cross of ice - it was all so bizarre
What a shame it was all so tragic
With your unfinished books
of which you were so proud
That you read at the parties in a voice not quite loud
Funny how the words all got lost in the crowd
What a shame that you spoke without thinking
With your hands slow as
Time and your Christmas Day air
And the way that you cried and the way that we stared
Oh, the life that you lived, it just wasn't fair
What a shame that no-one could get near you
With your promise of love
that hung in your eyes
And the shape of your body that you could not disguise
Lost to us now all the charm of your lies
What a shame that you were so perfect
With your father of God
that we tried to believe
And your kiss from Jesus that you gave to a thief
We remember your tears, how you begged for release
What a shame that you took it so badly
With your Monroe eyes and
your Madonna smile
Your love for Arthur Miller that lasted but a while
If only we had see throug your Biblical style
What a shame that we loved you without question
With your pillow of ice
in your quarantine bed
And the way that we laughed at all that you said
And the ceiling of mirrors so quiet overhead
What a shame that you were so famous
With your foot in the door
on the very last day
Leaving us like blind men with nothing left to say
Oh, what did you do when we all turned away?
What a shame that crowds have no faces
