End of History

I apologize,
Seem to have arrived,
On what items in my bag from your house.
There's cutlery,
A tablecloth, some Hennessy,
And a book on Presidents deceased.
I'll have them fed-exed to you,
It was a strange thing to do,
I hope we can still be friends.
Ah, it was not me,
But someone else, you see,
Twisting the steering reins.

Put a penny in the slot and make an
Artificial li-ii-iight shine,
Leave go-ooo. Mark old and line.

I don't give advise,
But be wise and think twice,
Before getting involved in a game.
Where the minority
Face the majority,
Who are faceless and born without names.
Was it knock synch when
We came across three men,
They had church candles wrapped in newspaper.
I bought two from them,
And I'll lit one for you,
I hope the message made it's way down the wire.

Put a penny in the slot and make an
Artificial li-ii-iight shine,
Leave go-ooo. Mark old and line.

The soul of a dog,
He's alive and not gone
To the farm like the others said.
A Rhodesian richback,
Off the beaten track,
In a furniture shop down on the quays.
For the loneliness you foster,
I suggest Paul Auster,
A book called Timbuktu.

Put a penny in the slot and watch the
Drunken sailor boy dance.
She will not let you be
Her lov-ver.
She goes out looking for
The taxi.
Her phone is ringing straight to
Message-minder.
Send out a battalion to
Find her.

Put a penny in the slot and count the
Swans through a te-elescope.
I can't help from cryin'
I wish you were mine.

When I was seventeen,
I followed my dream,
Up into a high-rise block.
The adventures of Augie March,
By Saul Bel-low,
Was all I had for company.
At night time I'd lie
In Beckingham pike,
With tears like flashbulbs.
And recall my treasure-
Searching days,
In the rock pools as a kid.

To the remains of
The cherub plains,
Or around the bonfire in Nailors? cove.
Good company and grief
Sit like a doc leaf,
Sits beside a singing nett-le.

Put a penny in the slot and make an
Artificial li-ii-iight shi-iine,
Leave go-ooo. My golden arm

I still see you as a baby, I do
Climbing onto the stage in front of the school
High strung
The cat got your tongue
The spotlight came out
You'd been strung
I followed the trail
when I heard that they found
you in the cowshed
I still see the insect filled jars in rows
The calculations and the diagrams, constellations
High strung
The cat got your tongue
The spotlight came out
You'd been hung
I followed the trail
when I heard that they found
You in the cowshed

They're biting at your heels
Country lanes lead to fields
Who was that fox caught in that trap?
Laid with hunters map

When the cloud rolls back, back, back
I'll meet you at the mill

Depressions in your neck
He's just keeping you in check
Who was that fox caught in that trap?
Laid with hunters map

When the cloud rolls back, back, back
I'll meet you by the mill

You shake hands with lightning
For an apple on a string
You shake hands with lightning
For an apple on a string

Down here underneath the microscope,
it's hard to cope.
don't hide your face in your hands,
'cause if your eyes play tricks,
it's outta my control.
it's gonna be a long cold winter.
the skeletons of trees, my blackwater child
if you don't love me, well, don't shove me
out into the dark
without a flashlight or a spark.
any stitches cling like bitches to my arms
for all my charms.
it's gonna be a crooked little winter
the skeletons of trees, my blackwater child
she's walking home
to the devil's flowers.
the broken bones
of heavy hours.
we stayed out late,
it's a lighthouse trait.
and we'll take our time

The grass is screaming long
Midnight cars roll past
I've been chasing your room
While the summer lasts

So count it on your fingers
If we got it wrong
It's cause the days have no numbers
If we leave tonight
And we leave it all behind

Drinking alphabetically
Cause the beauty's gone all sore
Honey dripping, paler skin
While there's bodies underneath, the floor

So count it on your fingers
If we got it wrong
It's cause the days have no numbers
If we leave tonight
And we leave it all behind