summer in winterwinter in springtimeyou heard the birds singeverything will be fine
I spent the summer wastingthe time was passed so easilybut if the summer’s wastedhow come that I could feel so free
I spent the summer wastingthe sky was blue beyond comparea photograph of myselfis all I have to show forseven weeks of river walkwaysseven weeks of staying up all night
I spent the summer wastingthe time was passed so pleasantlysay cheerio to books nowthe only things I’ll read are faces
I spent the summer wastingunder a canopy of …seven weeks of reading papersseven weeks of river walkwaysseven weeks of feeling guiltyseven weeks of staying up all nightsummer in winterwinter in springtimeyou heard the bird sayeverything will be fine
what was it I saw in New York?
I’m not the same anymorehow will I hide these feelings insidecall my girl ont he phoneneon lights shine brgith
Taxi cabs glide byaeroplanes they fly, high up in the skypretty girl says "
Hi..whats the worst job you’ve had?what do you read?what’s driving you mad?"met the cigarette girl – took a note of her charmdbut no cigarmet the Indie-
Cool Queentook me out to the barand showed me the scenemy little girl I can’t findshe’s five hours behindit’s the singer not the song"something’s gone wrong"said the spider to the flydo I like this girl?it’s such a big world
I like the tone of her voice
I loved the sound of her voice
When I get back to London from outer spacewill it fall into place?
I’ll hold onto my smilefind my girl in a whilelook myself in the facedont know what you seeam I playing in your movie?you’re in my magazineare you talking to me?
I’m lucky, I can open the door and I can walk down the street
Unlucky, I’ve got nowhere to go and so I follow my feeta choice is facing you, a healthy dose of paina choice is facing you as you stare through the raina choice is facing you but I choose to refrain for todaytomorrow we’ll be back in trouble againdream one, you had a whole lot of fun with a comedianstop short of going all the way, you’ll have to make it somedaywhy is this happening to you, you’re not a child?why is this happening? you’ve too much on your mindthings creep up on you when you are fast asleepyou are dreaming, you are sleepyyou are stuck to the sheetsin a town so small there’s no escaping youin a town so small there’s no escape from viewin a town so small there’s nothing left to dodream two you couldn’t see her face, but you saw everything elsedream two was pretty special, easily beats loving yourselfcould you put a name to someone elses sigh?could you put a face to someone elses eyes?is it someone that you’d maybe recognise?but it all fades into morning when you open you eyes
ease you’re feet in the seamy darling its the place to betake your shoes off curl your toesand I will frame this moment in timetroubles come and troubles gothe trouble that we’ve come to knowwill stay with us till we get oldwill stay with us till somebody decides to godecides to go
Soberly, without regret, I make another sandwichand I fill my face, I know the things have got to youbut what can I do?suddenly, without a warningon a pale blue morningyou decide your time is wearing thina conscious choise to let yourself go danblinghoveringits an emergencythere’s no more "wait and see"maybe if I shut my eyesyour trouble will be split between uspeople come and people goyou’re scouring everybodies dacefor some small flicker of the truthto what it is that you are going through, my boy
I left you drythe signs were clear that that you were not going anywhereanywheresave for a falling downeverything’s going wronglater on, as I walked homethe plough was showing, and orion
I could see the house where you lived
I could see the house where you gaveall your time and sanity to peoplethen you waited for the people to acknowledge youthey spoke in turnbut their eyes would pass over youover youwho’s seeing you at all?who’s seeing you at all?
is it wicked not to care when they say that you’re mistakenthinking hopes and lots of dreams that aren’t there?is it wicked not to care when you’ve wasted many hourstalking endlessly to anyone that’s there?
I know the truth awaits mebut still I hesitate because of fearskipping tickets making rhymesis that all that you believe in?wearing rags to make you pretty by designrusting armour for effectits not fun to watch the rust growfor it will all be over when you’re deadcounting acts and clutching thoughtsby the river where the moss growsover rocks the water running all the timeis it wicked when you smileeven though you feel like cryingeven though you could be sick at any time?but if there was a sequelwould you love me as an equal?would you love me till I’m dead?if there was a sequelwould you love me like an equal?would you love me till I’m dead
And if there was a sequelwould you love me as an equal?would you love me till I’m dead?or is there someone else instead?
It could have been a brilliant career
Paining lines in a school that was too well known
Paining lines with a friend that had gone before
She challenged everyone to a fight
But the prefects all backed down
And they ran her out of town
Cause she drank and swore and spoke
Out of turn, she was the village joke
She had a stroke at the age of 24
It could have been a brilliant career
Getting clients to finance her strategies
Filling time in on Safeways on Saturday
She wears the clothes of an emperor
But her paintings are a sham
And they’re going for a grand
When the dealers come to view
Do you ever see the real you?
He had a stroke at the age of 24
It could have been a brilliant career
Selling lies to the boys with the old Dansettes
Pulling the wool, playing the fool, it’s no wonder that
He is dribbling spit tonight
And the one he sent away
Was the only one who stayed
With a spoon and a decent book
And you can tell by the way she looks
She is sorry and resigned
As he wets himself for the final time
Seymour Stein – I’ve been lonely
I caught a glimpse of someones faceit was mine and I’d been cryinghalf a world awayticket for a planerecord company man
I wont be coming to dinnermy thought are far away
Im working on that day
North Country girl
I think she’s gone to stay
Promises of fame, promises of fortune
LA to New York – San Francisco back to Boston
North of Scotland has he seen?won’t he hire a limousine?
Seymour bring her back to me
I heard dinner went wellyou liked Chris’s jackethe reminded you of Johnnybefore he went Electronic
Seymour Stein – sorry I missed youhave a nice flight homeit’s a good day for flying
if you want me I’ll be therea boy to deal with all your problemsbut part of the dealis for you to feel somethingif you want me look me up
I don’t exist in usual placessubtle as the wind is greyif you want you know where I am
I saw your arms in a dreamand there were blue veins blueblue veinsif you want me all you have to dois ask a thousand questionstriplicate and file under"simple things you ask to make a young boy sigh"young boy sighyoung boy sigh
and the moment will come when the composure returnsput a face on the world, turn your back to the walland you walk twenty yards with your head in the airdown the Liberty Hill, where the fashion brigadelook with curious eyes on your raggedy wayand for once in your life you have nothing to sayand could this be the time when somebody will cometo say, "look at yourself, you’re not much use to anyone"take a walk in the park, take a valium pillread the letter you got from the memory girlbut it takes more than this to make sense of the dayyeah it takes more than milk to get rid of the tasteand you trusted to this, and you trusted to thatand when you saw it all come, it was waving the flagof the United States of Calamity, hey!after all that you’ve done boy, I’m sure you’re going to payin the morning you come to the ladies salonto get all fitted out for The Paperback Thronebut the people are living far away from the placewhere you wanted to help, it’s a bit of a wasteand the puzzle will last till somebody will say"theres alot to be done while youre head is still young"if you put down your pen, leave your worries behindthen the moment will come, and the memory will shinenow the trouble is over, everybody got paideverybody is happy, they are glad that they camethen you go to the place where you’ve finally foundyou can look at yourself, sleep the clock around
a mile and a half on a bus takes a long timethe odour of old prison food takes a long time to pass you bywhen youve been insideday upon day of this wandering gets you downnobody gives you a chance or a dollar in this old townhovering silence from you is a giveawaysqualor and smoke’s not your style"
I don’t like this place"we better gothen I compare notes with your older sister
I am a lazy gett, she is as pure as the cold driven snowwhat did you learn from your tim ein the solitarycell of your mind?there was noises, distractions from anything goodand the old prison foodcolour my life with the chaos of troublecause anything’s better than posh isolation
I missed the busyou were laid on your backwith the boy from the arab strapwith the boy from the arab strapits something to speak of the way you are feelingto crowds there assembleddo you ever feel you have gone too far?everyone suffers in silence and a burdenthe man who drives minicabs down in Old Comptonthe Asian manwith his love hate affairwith his racist clientelea central location for you is a must as you stagger about making freewith your lewd and lascivious boastswe know you are soft cause we’ve all seen you dancingwe know you are hard cause we all saw you drinking from noonuntil noon againyou’re the boy with the filthy laughyoure the boy with the arab strapstrapped to the table with suits from the shelter shopcomic celebrity takes a back seat as the cigarette catchesand sets off the smoke alarmwhat do you make of the cool set in London?you’re constantly updating your hit parade of you ten biggest wanksshe’s a waitress and she’s got style
Sunday bathtime could take a while