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BELTANE
Have you ever stood in the April wood and called the new year in?
While the phantoms of three thousand years fly as the dead leaves spin?
There's a snap in the grass behind your feet and a tap upon your shoulder.
And the thin wind crawls along your neck it's just the old gods getting older.
And the kestral drops like a fall of shot and the red cloud hanging high
come a Beltane.
Have you ever loved a lover of the old elastic truth?
And doted on the daughter in the ministry of youth?
Thrust your head between the breasts of the fertile innocent.
And taken up the cause of love, for the sake of argument.
Or while the kisses drop like a fall of shot from soft lips in the rain.
come a Beltane.
Happy old new year to you and yours.
The sun's up for one more day, to be sure.
Play it out gladly, for your card's marked again.
Have you walked around your parks and towns so knife-edged orderly?
While the fires are burned on the hills upturned in far-off wild country.
And felt the chill on your window-sill as the green man comes around.
With his walking cane of sweet hazel brings it crashing down.
Sends your knuckles white as the thin stick bites. Well, it's just your groaning pains.
Come a Beltane. Come a Beltane.
Come a Beltane. Come a Beltane.
Come a Beltane. Come a Beltane.
Come a Beltane. Come a Beltane.
BENDS LIKE A WILLOW
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.
She bends like a willow. Oh, she bends 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.
Bends like a willow,
like a willow,
a willow.
BESIDE MYSELF
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 talking 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.
Yeah, 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 quilt 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.
I'm beside myself.
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.
I'm beside myself.
I'm beside myself.
BIG DIPPER
The mist rolls off the beaches:
the train rolls into the station.
Weekend happiness seekers pent-up saturation.
Well, we don't mean anyone any harm,
We weren't on the Glasgow train.
See you at the Pleasure Beach:
roller-coasting heroes.
Big Dipper riding
we'll give the local lads a hiding
if they keep us from the ladies
hanging out in the penny arcades.
Shaking up the Tower Ballroom
throwing up in the bathroom.
Landlady's in the backroom
I'm the Big Dipper
it's the weekend rage.
Rich widowed landlady give me your spare front door key.
If you're 39 or over, I'll make love to you next Thursday
I may stay over for a week or two
drop a postcard to my mum.
I'll see you at the waltzer
we'll go big-dipping daily.
BIG RIFF AND MANDO
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.
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.
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.
Marty loved the sound of his mandolin.
Running on the power of a stolen mandolin.
Steal a little inspiration. Steal a little muscle.
BLACK MAMBA
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.
BLACK SATIN DANCER
Come, let me play with you, black satin dancer.
In all your giving, given is the answer.
Tearing life from limb and looking sweeter
Than the brightest flower in my garden.
Begging your pardon shedding right unreason.
Over sensation fly the fleeting seasons.
Thin wind whispering on broken mandolin.
Bending the minutes the hours ever turning
on that old gold story of mercy:
desperate breathing, tongue nipple-teasing.
Your fast river flowing your northern fire fed.
Come, black satin dancer, come softly to bed.
BLACK SUNDAY
Tomorrow is the one day I would change for a Monday
with freezing rains melting and no trains running
and sad eyes passing in windows flimsy
and my seat rocking from legs not quite matching,
Got passport, credit cards, a plane that I'm catching
Black Sunday falls one day too soon.
The taxi that takes me will be moving too quickly
My suitcases simply too full for the closing
of pants, shirts and kisses all packed in a hurry,
Two best-selling paper backs chosen at random
no sign of sales-persons to whom I might hand them.
Black Sunday falls one day too soon.
And down at the airport are probably waiting
a few thousand passengers, overbooked seating
Time long suspended in transit-lounge traumas
connections broken and Special Branch waiting
conspicuously standing in holiday clothing.
Black Sunday falls one day too soon.
Pick up my feet and kick off my lethargy,
Down to the gate with the old mood upon me,
Get out and chase the small immortality
born in the minute of my next returning
Impatient feet tapping and cigarette burning.
Homecoming one day too soon.
And back at the house there's a grey sky a-tumbling,
Milk bottles piling on door steps a-crumbling,
Curtains all drawn and cold water plumbing
Notepaper scribbles I read unbelieving
Saying how sorry, how sad was the leaving
…one day too soon.
Tomorrow is the one day I would change for a Monday
with freezing rains melting and no trains running
and sad eyes passing in windows flimsy
and my seat rocking from legs not quite matching,
Got passport, credit cards, a plane that I'm catching
Black Sunday falls one day too soon.
BROADFORD BAZAAR
Dirty white caravans down narrow roads sailing,
Vivas, Cortinas, weaving in their wake.
With hot, red-faced drivers, horns' flattened fifths wailing,
Putting trust in blind corners as they overtake.
And it's "All come willing now
Spend a shilling now
Stack up the back of your new motor-car."
There's home-dyed woolens, and wee plastic Cuillins
The day of the Broadford Bazaar
Out of the north, no oil-rigs are drifting
And jobs for the many are down to the few
Blue-bottle choppers, they visit no longer
Like files to the jampots, they were just passing through.
And it's "All come willing now,
Spend a shilling now,
Stack up the back of your new motor-car''
Where once stood oil-rigs so phallic
There's only swear-words in Gaelic
To say at the Broadford bazaar.
All kinds of people come down for the opening
Crofters and cottars, while settlers galore
And up on the hill, there's an old sheep that's dying
But it had two new lambs born just a fortnight before.
And it's "All come willing now,
Spend a shilling now,
Stack up the back of your new motor-car.''
We'll take pounds, francs and dollars from the well-heeled
And stamps from the Green Shield
The day of the Broadford Bazaar.
BROADSWORD
I see a dark sail on the horizon
set under a black cloud that hides the sun.
Bring me my broadsword and clear understanding.
Bring me my cross of gold as a talisman.
Get up to the roundhouse on the cliff-top standing
Take women and children and bed them down.
Bring me my broadsword and clear understanding.
Bring me my cross of gold as a talisman.
Bless with a hard heart those who surround me.
Bless the women and children who firm our hands.
Put our backs to the north wind. Hold fast by the river.
Sweet memories to drive us on for the motherland.
I see a dark sail on the horizon | |
