>>3634 (OP)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ldXdnZtTWp8

Really don't mind if you sit this one out
My word's but a whisper, your deafness a shout
I may make you feel but I can't make you think
Your sperm's in the gutter, your love's in the sink
So you ride yourselves over the fields
And you make all your animal deals
And your wise men don't know how it feels
To be thick as a brick

And the sand-castle virtues are all swept away
In the tidal destruction, the moral melee
The elastic retreat rings the close of play
As the last wave uncovers the newfangled way
But your new shoes are worn at the heels
And your suntan does rapidly peel
And your wise men don't know how it feels
To be thick as a brick

And the love that I feel
Is so far away
I'm a bad dream
That I just had today
And you shake your head
And say it's a shame

Spin me back down the years
And the days of my youth
Draw the lace and black curtains
And shut out the whole truth
Spin me down the long ages
Let them sing the song

See there! A son is born
And we pronounce him fit to fight
There are black-heads on his shoulders
And he pees himself in the night
We'll make a man of him
Put him to a trade
Teach him to play Monopoly
And how to sing in the rain

The Poet and the Painter
Casting shadows on the water
As the sun plays on the infantry
Returning from the sea
The do-er and the thinker
No allowance for the other
As the failing light illuminates
The mercenary's creed
The home fire burning
The kettle almost boiling
But the master of the house
Is far away
The horses stamping
Their warm breath clouding
In the sharp and frosty morning
Of the day
And the poet lifts his pen
While the soldier sheaths his sword

And the youngest of the family
Is moving with authority
Building castles by the sea
He dares the tardy tide
To wash them all aside

The cattle quietly grazing
At the grass down by the river
Where the swelling mountain water
Moves onward to the sea
The builder of the castles
Renews the age-old purpose
And contemplates the milking girl
Whose offer is his need
The young men of the household
Have all gone into service
And are not to be expected
For a year
The innocent young master
Thoughts moving ever faster
Has formed the plan
To change the man he seems
And the poet sheaths his pen
While the soldier lifts his sword

And the oldest of the family
Is moving with authority
Coming from across the sea
He challenges the son
Who puts him to the run

What do you do when the old man's gone
Do you want to be him?
And your real self sings the song
Do you want to free him?
No one to help you get up steam
And the whirlpool turns you way off-beam

I've come down from the upper class
To mend your rotten ways
My father was a man-of-power
Whom everyone obeyed

So come on all you criminals!
I've got to put you straight
Just like I did with my old man
Twenty years too late

Your bread and water's going cold
Your hair is too short and neat
I'll judge you all and make damn sure
That no-one judges me

You curl your toes in fun
As you smile at everyone
You meet the stares, you're unaware
That your doings aren't done
And you laugh most ruthlessly
As you tell us what not to be
But how are we supposed to see
Where we should run?

I see you shuffle in the courtroom with
Your rings upon your fingers
And your downy little sidies
And your silver-buckle shoes
Playing at the hard case
You follow the example
Of the comic-paper idol
Who lets you bend the rules

So, come on ye childhood heroes!
Won't you rise up from the pages
Of your comic-books, your super crooks
And show us all the way
Well! Make your will and testament
Won't you join your local government?
We'll have Superman for president
Let Robin save the day

You put your bet on number one
And it comes up every time
The other kids have all backed down
And they put you first in line
And so you finally ask yourself
Just how big you are
And you take your place in a wiser world
Of bigger motor cars
And you wonder who to call on

So! Where the hell was Biggles
When you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen
Who always pulled you though?
They're all resting down in Cornwall
Writing up their memoirs
For a paper-back edition
Of the Boy Scout Manual

>>3634 (OP)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B-7yVIJ7wE4

('Baker Street Muse', take one)
(Shit shit shit, take two)

Windy bus-stop. Click. Shop-window. Heel
Shady gentleman. Fly-button. Feel
In the underpass, the blind man stands
With cold flute hands
Symphony match-seller, breath out of time -
You can call me on another line

Indian restaurants that curry my brain
Newspaper warriors changing the names
They advertise from the station stand
With cold print hands
Symphony word-player, I'll be your headline
If you catch me another time

Didn't make her - with my Baker Street ruse
Couldn't shake her - with my Baker Street bruise
Like to take her - I'm just a Baker Street muse

Ale-spew, puddle-brew - boys, throw it up clean
Coke and Bacardi colours them green
From the typing pool goes the mini-skirted princess
With great finesse
Fertile earth-mother, your burial mound
Is fifty feet down in the Baker Street underground
(Oh, what the hell?)

I didn't make her - with my Baker Street ruse
Couldn't shake her - with my Baker Street bruise
Like to take her - I'm just a Baker Street muse

Walking down the gutter thinking, "How the hell am I today?"
Well, I didn't really ask you but thanks all the same

"Big bottled Fraulein, put your weight on me,"
Said the pig-me to the whore
Desperate for more
In his assault upon the mountain
Little man, his youth a fountain
Overdrafted and still counting
Vernacular, verbose
An attempt at getting close
To where he came from
In the doorway of the stars
Between Blandford Street and Mars;
Proposition, deal. Flying button feel
Testicle testing, wallet ever-bulging
Dressed to the left, divulging
The wrinkles of his years
Wedding-bell induced fears
Shedding bell-end tears
In the pocket of her resistance
International assistance
Flowing generous and full
To his never-ready tool
Pulls his eyes over her wool
And he shudders as he comes -
And my rudder slowly turns me into the Marylebone Road

And here slip I, dragging one foot in the gutter
In the midnight echo of
The shop that sells cheap radios
And there sits she —
No bed, no bread, no butter —
On a double yellow line
Where she can park anytime
Old Lady Grey; Crash-barrier Waltzer -
Some only son's mother
Baker Street casualty
Oh, Mr. Policeman - blue shirt ballet master
Feet in sticking plaster - Move the old lady on
Strange pas-de-deux - His Romeo to her Juliet
Her sleeping draught
His poisoned regret
No drunken bums allowed
To sleep here in the crowded emptiness
Oh officer, oh let me send her to a cheap hotel -
I'll pay the bill and make her well —
'Like hell you bloody will!'
No do-good over kill
We must teach them to be still more independent

I have no time for Time Magazine or Rolling Stone
I have no wish for wishing-wells or wishing bones
I have no house in the country; I have no motor-car

And if you think I'm joking, then I'm just a one-line joker in a public bar
And it seems there's nobody left for tennis; and I'm a one-band man
And I want no Top Twenty funeral or a hundred grand

There was a little boy stood on a burning log
Rubbing his hands with glee
He said, "Oh Mother England did you light my smile
Or did you light this fire under me?"

One day I'll be a minstrel in the gallery
And paint you a picture of the queen
And if sometimes I sing to a cynical degree
It's just the nonsense that it seems

So I drift down through the Baker Street valley
In my steep-sided un-reality
And when all's said and all's done
Couldn't wish for a better one —
It's a real-life ripe dead-certainty

That I'm just a Baker Street muse
Talking to the gutter-stinking, winking in the same old way
I tried to catch my eye but I looked the other way

Indian restaurants that curry my brain
Newspaper warriors changing the names
They advertise from the station stand
Circumcised with cold print hands

Windy bus-stop. Click. Shop-window. Heel
Shady gentleman. Fly-button. Feel
In the underpass, the blind man stands
With cold flute hands
Symphony match-seller, breath out of time -
You can call me on another line

Didn't make her - with my Baker Street ruse
Couldn't shake her - with my Baker Street bruise
Like to take her - I'm just a Baker Street muse

I'm just a Baker Street muse
Just a Baker Street muse
Just a Baker Street muse

(Well I'm just a Baker Street muse…
I can't get out!)

https://youtube.com/watch?v=ZrQ_vnL6pD4

Bubblin' tea, blueberry green
Dream upon dream, make way for a scene
Sweet sour sip, make a soft center
Aroma smoke, the silk water
Scented so sweet, you're potpourri
Clove bud in the mouth let your secret weather be
The joss money heaven, paper red heat
Soft in the beam, I'll never come clean
Bergamot, Jasmine, Cinnamon sheets
Blood Amber, honey coil in the heat
Midnight oil, baptizing me
Anointing, simmerin', let it reek

<...>

One foot in heaven , one foot in hell
Lost of a L, I'm glad I fell
That boy a pagan, yeah, he even know
That boy a pussy, he already know
That boy a dreamer, oh I know
Watch him blow all that blow
Cinnamon dreams, following me
Like sweet memory, so lemon pretty
A kamikaze is a soft maybe
Full beam on the beam, cause the scent heavy