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Some of us will be falling at Bechers and some of us go at the chair
Some of us just because just because we don’t want to be there
40 yards it seems from the winning post some jump high into the sky
It was said they carried that Devon Loch look in their eyes When up close when up close
They neither craved the fame nor the money but failing so gloriously
reveals a new paradise
Some things in life are still worth getting excited about
In a traffic of bodies a mighty pile up occurs
Oh and then out of the clearing tis only you that’s emerged The highly unfancied the one that nobody claimed the most likely
they said in school to break a leg or end up lame You you the most outside of outsiders
We’re the 100-1 shot Tipperary Tim is our name
And some things in life are still worth getting excited about
In the national of life we’re all runners and riders and some of us
the most outside of outsiders we’re waiting we’re still chasing
And glory is fleeting from obscurity is forever they’re neck and neck
they can’t split them it’s a photo finish


The tallest man with the skinniest features crazy preachers eyes that say
Hello – How low?
Why don’t you tell me where the kids all go?
Peculiar strange or peculiar funny
I’m just a vine from the crooked tree that grows
How low? Why don’t you tell me where the kids all go?
Hello – How low?
It’s underneath your vest but I can hear yours
fluttering beating that stubborn little muscle inside your chest
I found it – I tasted life on another planet
You speak a strange kind of butterfly language
When all I hear are the caterpillars groan
How low? Why don’t you tell me where the kids all go?
Ba Da Da Da Da Da
Restless hands in the pockets of chaos
Shiny faces with mile wide grins that grow
Hello – Why don’t you tell me where the kids all go?


The early morning call the smell of toast is in the air like an Eskimo in his igloo I said “Please just leave me there”
Perfectly aligned in being undisturbed the world has woken up but I’ll pretend that I’ve not heard
So I shuffle like a newborn who’s taking her first steps like a nervous tightrope walker without the safety net just like my nine month old daughter
My style’s all contract killer pale unshaven grim
My suspicious looking eyes daren’t let the daylight in
I am so happy most of all in my bed
Happy so happy most of all I got a whole universe in my head  
Happy so happy most of all in my bed let snoring commence and take over
If sleep is soup and soup is sleep then bring me crusty bread
When you’re so good at doing nothing and nothing comes close
I got a PhD in nothing it’s what I like doing most
‘I am the King of the Lucid Dreamers’


Danger Danger here on planet earth
There’s a singer songwriter epidemic and they claim it’s getting worse
We cannot move for heartfelt lyrics soft and sweet indulgent gimmicks the song would be over but there’s not enough of me yet in it

And so he picked up the phone and haggled lady if it’s true then 555 vinkloore and no less I might just do the work that no one else would dare to contemplate I will create a serum that I know shall break their need to sing to where others be gathered in a room and recite a set of bloated impending doom
They shall no more preach messages from a sense of lack for misery loves company as they back slap each other back

For we need more shepherds and not more sheep more sheep more sheep more sheep more sheep we need more shepherds not sheep
As the sheep start to bleat
Baa Baaaaa

For it seems that human beings are addicted to their pain 
Suffering seen from an outside source 
How shall  I call it? INSANE
It’s true they are not conscious of acting consciously 
For the main trade on your planet is to indulge in the ‘woe is me’ 
For many have so much but nothing fills them up 
The void they’re trying to fill it can’t be filled up with that stuff 
I’ll hunt down all the leaders 
Switch off their moaning genes 
And in time Planet Earth can radiate with joy and new found dreams 


Not all of us will flower in summer not all of us will spread our wings in the endless fields of perfumed colour we weren’t the first buds of the first day of spring
Above the rain filled skies of Summer the blazing sun she does confess what hasn’t started how can it be over? If it hasn’t happened yet?

Handsome girls and golden boys some of us are bootleg youth I’m older but I’m younger now
So here we are floor to ceiling
Bloated with tongue twister lines if you are Jane does that make me Tarzan?
As I go swinging from another slippery vine
Not all of us will flower in Summer tilt our heads from the sun filled sky until the autumn months bring the spice box colours fuels a new intention that first passed us by


Fat Freddy’s fingers so lazily linger on the ebony and ivory keys seduced by a logic fuelled by the darkest liquid made from the sea warm it would tipple his handlebar rippled like a baby seal moistened and wet as Fat Freddy’s fingers combed through his moustache “are you ready Freddy?” “Not yet”
They scream out with joyous air thumping persuasion Burt Bacharach tunes they can wait as Freddy begins the heart of Saturday night by his boho chic hero Tom Waits lost in a world of atmospherical discord and dissonant water bassoon Fat Freddy’s fingers when they decided arrived not a moment too soon
Husky dog howling and twisted face scowling his heavy perspiring brows poured the nectar of labour infused with a favour a femme fatale Freddy adored his fingers once bony wiry and stretched out the teen showed such promise they said but he wanted to travel let the world just unravel in exotic climes he’d forget “what is success just a bind just a burden no one need write about me I’d rather just hang out in fishermen towns  where the villagers live by the sea” the smell of the air still salty still there tis the odour that he’ll never forget now Fat Freddy’s fingers indeed they do linger like a giant imaginary net
Just like the whale he  thrashed his large tail but flaccid he found himself beached “run out of money and friends so my honey took a boat she said my excuses too cheap” to an island so far you can’t reach it by car “Freddy you can’t hunt me down I gambled our money our house and what’s funny I don’t think that I want to be found” Freddy unstable more willing than able said nothing makes sense any more as the audience clap his fingers they rap to that Manhattan George Gershwin score
I think I’m prepared it’s time that I dared in Fat Freddy’s fingers a smoke I live up with  stars and a planet near mars but this busking musician is broke the mob’s always hungry a favour to sell a brandy soaked voice says “hey Freddy how’s you? I could track your girl down I know people in towns and cities the whole world it’s true” Fat Freddy’s fingers anarchically linger clenching club like his fists no moral incision I fear no derision a song first I healthily tip like a toothy grinned walrus the alpha male saw us clasping their hands in a deal another hamster one gasps there ain’t enough masks to keep Freddy from riding that wheel
Out on a ledge of a Parisian window a conversation more lost than found when you’ve danced with the angels so high in the air the only way forward is down they found Arrabella in Arunachala she hung out with gurus all day “there’s a price on your head” in low voice they said “coming back there with you then no way” with candid persuasion and amorous force they took her away in the night and as Fat Freddy’s fingers played mournful and slow they suddenly filled with delight isn’t she lovely that wonder called Stevie penned all those years long ago balletic they’re dancing his fingers are prancing into you once more let me grow
Arrabella stayed silent glances looked violent “hey Freddy play me a song” the man in the blue black Italian suit said “I think that you know the one?”
The mood as it changes Freddy engages and plays with a pensive refrain “R E S P E C T I’ll tell you what it means to me dear Freddy need I tell you again?”
Fat Freddy’s fingers no longer linger least not with the ten he once had but he still plays piano better than others of six digits 
I think he was glad
He still lives in the stars and a planet near mars love darkened his doorstep again he watches each sunset and says “I’m not done yet” and opens his mouth to the rain
It’s 2.57 and the light from the heavens lunar bathed open roof bar Adagio for strings by Barber he plays a melody that seems to come from afar
Been looking been looking been looking so long for the heart of Saturday night now Fat Freddy’s fingers they choose to linger with a peaceful and natural delight


This is a song that nobody wants to hear
This is a song you’ll forget long before you care to remember
This is a song won’t tattoo cross your chest this is a song
Happy to stay out of the way
No camera lights action or sweet centre stage
This is a song if it was a mountain well it wouldn’t be the Eiger
This is a song great or good?
Maybe it’s neither? 
This is a song your ears nor engage or arrest
For this is a song
Unlearning all things they said I should know into whose idea of a song should it grow?
For if this is a song both elusive and shy
Not one of those who excel in King Kong size moments
And if this is a song overlooked and passed by happy to stay that way
Say what you mean mean what you say it’s hardly James Bond gets the girl saves the day
Is it? Mean what you say say what you mean there’s incredible hulks of songs out there so green so green they’re envious this isn’t one of those songs
This is a song be king of the bluff if the stakes were high at poker This is a song dreams of being the Dark Knight turns out to be the Joker
This is a song so transparent and thin
This is a song starved of nutrition a feint apparition
The numbers don’t add up it’s no mathemagician
And this is a song that won’t be heard at fairy tale weddings played on fat bottomed Spanish guitars
This is a song in a world full of bad tributes and pale imitation
This is a song that lets out a sigh of exasperation
This is a song its Vincent price phase was so inspired
This this is a song if it be a monster be it Godzilla a marriage Elvis to young ripe Priscilla


Everyone for miles around
Brought their dancing shoes to town
Everyone at least that’s how it seemed
The young and truly young at heart
In starring roles and extra parts
When nothing is expected life’s so free

Well this cliche’s only cliched cos it’s true
Don’t miss what’s right in front of you

Timbers piled mountain high
The bonfire wood that kissed the sky
The circus in your heart the flames still blue
Tall ambitions master plans
Here by default and not command
You say there is no there left to get to


I’m Mr ‘Tentative and shy’ in large and crowded places to Mr ‘Mmm I
like it most in those wide and open spaces’ Say it like you mean it 

I’m Mr Small and the world is getting larger
Mr Dizzy on the black run I swear that they are harder
Say it like you mean it
I’m sometimes Mr Clumsy and I’m often Mr Wrong and when I’m Mr Muddle I think I’m him for far too long – Say it like you mean it
I’m mischief nonsense grumble fussy worry slow I’m all the Mr Men at once and some I guess you’ve yet to know
I’m Mr ‘Work in progress’ to Mr ‘Yes I’m done’ to Mr ‘I am all those things’ to Mr ‘No I think I’m none’
I’m Mr ‘Funky dancer’ tis James Brown in my hips to Mr Marx ‘I wasn’t kissing her I was just whispering in her lips’ – Say it like you mean it
I’m Mr ‘Beach boy music’ yes I’ve been happy sad and I’m so good no good so good no good so good at being bad
I’m Mr ‘Happy clappy’ they say I’m way too gregarious I smile in places they deem precarious