Memories

They can kill me if they want
If they won't kill me anyway.
I'll exist in their conscience
and in those ghosts when they are gone.

I'm a backstreet rat
With a bat up my back.
It doesn't pay to hang around,
I'm flapping in the fallout,
Straightlining my way home.
And taking aim,
On everything.

"I don't like shortcuts",
Said the man before he killed himself.

I genuinely thought I saw her there,
Dreaming as she hid behind the bedpost.
Well, she was the girl that I loved most.
I let my eyes believe me.

Cling to the side of the sheer drop,
Chewing gum,
Steer a wheel with one finger,
Feeling numb.
And listen for the singer on the radio,
That you were waiting for,
Relax your arms,
And finally, your jaw,
And wait for the fireball.

Criticise me if you must,
Wouldn't you believe it just?
The first line of a stanza,
Full of attitude and rust.
Criticise me if you dare...
As though it would believe I care.
The fifth line of a stanza-
And delusions of grandeur?

Pianos fit but sound like guitars in this world,
And clarinets sound like sitahs when we sit down.
The triangle of music comes between her and me,
And me with her.

Ping!

They can kill me if they want
If they won't kill me when I'm wrong.
I'll exist in their conscience
and in those ghosts when they are gone.

I flicked through a book with photos,
And the people therein spoke to me
Begging to myself.
I closed the book with photos,
And looked at something else.

Stop looking, she's not giving in,
It's up to you now, Sonny Jim.
Time for you to steam on in.
And time for her to flash her ring.

Love the brain you're born with,
It's the only world.
Man, I've been to Spain, and Ireland once,
I've been to France...
I've been to Portugal,
And been to Cannes,
Which is technically in France.
I went to Canada, and then the USA
I worry that my passport got away.
I've been to Malta, Kos,
And Turkey, and The Planet Dross.
And a man said, "Love the brain you're born with -
For it is all that you have got".

He's dead now.

And there's one thing I've just remembered...
He went to hell, and was dismembered.
With a pitchfork and a flame,
The devil has a lot to gain,

I'm tired, desperate and alone,
My hope was fragile all along.
I'm homeless and my hope has gone.
I'm hungry, too.
Hungry to hurt -
So fill me up with bullets.
And let me sing a song...

They can kill me if they want
If they won't kill me, then I'm wrong.
I'll exist in their conscience
and in their ghosts when they are gone.