Assorted Supermarket Lyric Drafts

Working title: Church

I saw the ghosts upon the beach
I saw their skin as pale as bleach

I took the ghosts right up the hill
I took them to the church that sat above the mill

The congregation did not care
The congregation was not there!

How many dead bodies was this church built on? (turn on the lights!)

I can see their hands! I can see their hands! I can see them singing!
I can hear them now! I can hear them now! I can see them clapping!
Out of the organ, I can feel it! There's a buzz, buzz, buzzing
Let me give it, let me take it, on my knees at the garbage altar

When you can smell and breathe it
Open up and believe it
We're inside a cloud of flies
In the middle of a cloud of flies

*   *   *   *   *

Working title: Blood And Stoats

Blood...and stoats...
Blood...and stoats...

Blood and stoats
Their teeth, your throat
Your hands and wrists
Are bound with rope
These lines are knives
These words that choke
And then you find
The blood, a stoat

Blood and stoats
A sail, a boat
Your hopes and dreams
They fail to float
A grim parade
Invades and gropes
It drains your blood
Dries out the stoat

Blood and stoats
A carved-up goat
The future's gown
A crimson coat
The stars, they fall
A widow's shawl
It barely copes
To cover a stoat

You put the cunt in insignificant
Oh the truth is puerile
You put the dick in predictable
Oho the truth is puerile

*   *   *   *   *

Working title: Cathedral

You want to mess with the flowers?
They'll mess you up when you're fast asleep
They will spread their vines inside your veins
Roots as far as the mirror's deep
Gathered in hand, gathered in hand
Gathered up in bunches, tied in knots
They'll lay us down in the compost
Leave us out back, ready to rot

Oh yeah
They called it the march of the flowers

Have you seen the planet's anfger?
Have you seen its teeth and claws?
Have you seen its many gestures
When you're behind closed doors?
Like the light in the refridgerator
Out like a candle in the winter wind
When the spores settle on you
That's when the world war will begin

Here comes the march of the flowers

Whitehawk Nihilism (draft 1 maybe)

We've got nothing here

Just like you've got nothing there

Only our nothing here

Is much cheaper

And where that road goes

Or where it came from

No one cares

There's patches of ground

Shops and houses

Just the same as what you think you've got

Over there

Only difference is

They're much cheaper here

And more free

Cracked eggs in the aisles

Don't matter

They're nothing

To worry about

You think your nothing

Is better than our nothing?

Nah

Who are ya?

Tired From The Week

I.

So La Choza it is open and a table is reserved

It’s Matthew’s 30th birthday, it’s the least that he deserved

I’d love to come but I’m afraid I’m feeling past my peak

I’ll have to give this one a miss, I’m tired from the week.

II.

Lou and Sue are getting married, they’re gonna tie the knot

The ceremony won’t be one to ever be forgot

It’s going to be quite hectic and right now I’m feeling meek

That’s just another symptom of being tired from the week.

III.

An election is upon us and it’s time to cast our vote 

We cannot let those people take our country by the throat

But if the loons get in then I’ll just turn the other cheek

I’m a busy guy what with being tired from the week.

IV.

I hear Red Diamond Dragon Club are playing another gig

Main support for Talking Heads, it’s gonna be quite big

But I want to be the early bird with worm within its beak

I must confess, I’ve got to rest, I’m tired from the week.

V.

Aurora Borealis is lighting up the Sussex sky!

Never before seen down here by any naked eye!

Oh no good Sir! I won’t be staying up to take a peek

I’ve got to get an early night, I’m tired from the week.

VI.

Jesus has been sighted, reports say that he’s in town

Sounds as though the Second Coming’s finally come around

Tomorrow I will roll away my own stone, so to speak

Must I tell you thrice that I am tired from the week?

VII.

Now aliens have landed and they’re calling us all out

And everyone is going to see what the fuss is all about

I’d prefer it if they tried to maintain their mystique

I have no real interest, I’m tired from the week.

VIII.

I’m going to throw a party and invite all my friends

It’s been a while, I really want to see them all again

Waiting for them to respond, the outlook’s looking bleak

Looks like they might all be feeling tired from the week.

IX.

Friends I’ve known since growing up, friends that I’ve just met

Friends from school, friends from work, friends I won’t forget

Friends of every creed and colour, belief and physique

I find it hard to believe they’re all tired from the week

X.

The birthday boy, the laughing loves, the future of the land

Light fantastic, David Byrne, a good-times party band 

Heaven-scented messengers and the truth that some still seek

What have they all been doing to make them tired from the week?

With A Beak

(another maybe for RDDC)

It's a bonny night to be a penguin
Dancing and a-surfing all day long
They don't have to do
Any performance reviews
We've got our way of being all a-wrong

I want to have myself some breakfast
I want to have a tattie scone
I want to have myself some breakfast
And eat 'til all the pain is gone

To be a thing with a beak
I want to be a thing with a beak

It's a bonny night to be a starling
In your murmuration way up high
No ifs and no buts
No education cuts
You can't be austere with the sky

I want to have myself a pub quiz
I want to have myself a try
I want to have myself a pub quiz
And maybe even win first prize

To be a thing with a beak
I want to be a thing with a beak

It's a bonny night to be a bastard
It's a bonny night to be a cad
We are all encouraged
To steal sandwiches
And rain a rain of shit upon the land

I want to have myself some whisky
I want to have a single malt
I want to have myself some whisky
We know that it's the government's fault

To be a thing with a beak
I want to be a thing with a beak

Lakeside World Darts Championship

(If RDDC can accept this song then the music world is in serious trouble)

You seemed so unimpressed
With our first date at Laserquest
The sweat and pre-pubescents
A mixture you found unpleasant
(You must get enough of that as a maths teacher)
I will appeal to your romantic side
And promise you a walk to the Lakeside
What could be more romantic
Than athletes and mathematics?

Lakeside World Darts Championship
Cupid's arrows never miss
Lakeside World Darts Championship
Oh those arrows are going to hit

Thought about the Amex, thought about bingo
All the exciting places that other people go

I know you like numbers and I like sport
This is the ideal place to court

There are 180 ways
To say “I Love You” to your face

But a trip to Frimley for you and I
Is the best way for me to hit the bullseye

I'm going to step up to the oche
Hoping for a little bit of tonsil hockey

Lakeside World Darts Championship
Cupid's arrows never miss
Lakeside World Darts Championship
Oh those arrows are going to hit

The first thing that you're going to do
When you go back to school
Is begin this little mission;
Hand over a home-made petition

To the head-teacher

In an attempt to beseech her

To install darts as part of
the Maths and PE syllabuses
And if that fails then at least
There's wrestling at Hove Town Hall in two weeks

Lakeside World Darts Championship
Cupid's arrows never miss
Lakeside World Darts Championship
Oh those arrows are going to hit

"The Fluidity of language" - draft 1

“Sticks and stones may break my bones

But names will never hurt me,”

Cool story, bro,
No one ever bled from being called a bastard,

But consider

the fluidity of language:

Throwing a glass full of words into someone's face

May annoy or upset at the most,

But words fired from high-powered cannon,

200 gallons of words a minute by

Men in protective clothing

Can knock down and injure.

Throwing words about casually in the back-garden

On a warm summer's evening

Can make a mess, ruin clothing at the most,

(It's all laughter amongst friends)

But words poured over a cloth covering

The victim's face and

Blocking the breathing passages

Can cause

Physical damage
And

Psychological damage
And

Death.

Words erode,

They drag and tear,

Coastlines collapse into swirling crumbs,

Dripping syllables onto the forehead

Bore a hole into the brain,

Words have a weight

As heavy as history,

And if enough are amassed upon you then

This weight drowns and suffocates

Leaving a body on the ocean floor,

Rusting disintegrating sediment.

Beware;

Lips are floodgates,

Letting loose fifty metre high torrents

Crashing onto foreign shores

Destroying homes and lives and

Those things that have taken years

Of careful nurturing and cultivation

To grow into beauty.

Sticks and stones may break my bones

But waves break me completely.

Collaboration #1

Sunrise like a cabbage,
Cliff Richard reaching a fab age,
He stretched and called Morrissey
Who was visiting Battersea,
Enquiring about a rakish boxer,
And people thought him a cat lover!
"Steve," trilled Cliff, "what are you up to?
Anything fun? And can I come to?"
"Mr. Richard," Moz said, "what joy it would be,
If you would join me at the Ritz for tea."
So Cliff threw on a salmon suit
With a cool mustard necktie to boot,
And dashed along to catch the next train,
Hoping Morrissey's ardour hadn't waned.
But lo! Fickle Steven disapproved
Of the way the garments' colours moved.
He took his leave abruptly like a full stop,
Leaving Cliff, with the boxer in a strop,
Outside a poorly-stocked HMV,
Mourning the tragic passing of humanity.

C. Sissons & J. McIntosh