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Script For A Jester's
Tear |
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So here I am once more in the playground of the broken
hearts,
one more experience, one more entry in a diary, self penned
Yet another emotional suicide overdosed on sentiment and
pride
Too late to say I love you, Too late to restage the play
Abandoning the relics in my playground of yesterday.
I'm losing on the swings, I'm losing on the roundabouts
Too much, Too soon, too far, to go,
too late to play, the game is over.
Yet another emotional suicide overdosed on sentiment and
pride
I'm losing on the swings, I'm lossing
on the roundabouts, the game is over
Too late to say I love you, Too late to restage the play
The game is over.
I act the role in classic style of
a martyr carved with a twisted smile
To bleed the lyric for this song
to write the rites to right my wrongs
an epitaph to a broken dream to
exorcise this silent scream
A scream that's borne from sorrow.
I never did write that love song the words just never seemed to
flow
No sad in reflection Did I gaze through perfection
and examine the shadows on the other side of mourning
and examine the shadows on the other side of mourning
Promised wedding now a wake
The fool escaped from paradise will look over his shoulder and
cry
Sit and chew on daffodils and struggle to answer why?
As you grow up and leave the playground where you kissed your
prince
and found your frog, Remember the Jester that showed
you tears, the script for tears.
So I'll hold my peace forever when you wear your bridal gown
In the silence of my shame the mute that sang the siren's
song has gone solo in the game I've gone solo in the game
But the game is over
Can you still say you love me Can you still say you love me
Can you still say that you love
me. |
| He Knows You
Know |
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Light switch, yellow fever, crawling up your bathroom wall
Singing psychedelic praises to the depths of the china bowl
You've got venom in your stomach, You've got poison in your
head
You should have listen to the priest at the
confession when he offered you the sacred bread.
He knows, you know, he knows, you know,
he knows, you know, but he's got problems.
Fast feed, crystal fever, swarming through a fractured mind
Chilling needles freeze emotion, the blind shall lead the
blind
You've got venom in your stomach, You've got poison in your
head
When your conscience whispered, the vein lines
stiffened, you were walking with the dead.
He knows, you know, he knows, you know, he knows, you know
He's got experience, he's got experience, he knows you know
but he's got problems, problems, problems.
He knows... Slash wrists, scarlet fever,
crawl under your bedroom door
Pumping arteries ooze their problems,
through the gap that the razor tore
You've got venom in your stomach,
You've got poison in your head
You should have listened to your analyst's
questions when you lay on his leather bed.
He knows, you know, he knows, you know,
he knows, you know, but he's got problems.
Blank eyes, purple fever streaming through the frosted panes.
You learned your lesson far too late from the links in a chemist
chain.
You've got venom in your stomach, You've got poison in your
head
You should have stayed at home and talked
with father listen to the lies he fed.
He knows, you know, he knows, you know,
he knows, you know, but he's got problems.
He knows, you know, he knows, you know,
he knows, you know he's got experience,
he's got experience, he knows you know
he knows you
know. |
| The
Web |
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The rain auditions at my window, it's symphony echoes in my
womb
My gaze scans the walls of this apartment
to rectify the confines of my tomb
I'm the cyclops in the tenement, I'm the soul without the
cause
Crying midst my rubber plants, ignoring beckoning doors,
Clippings from ancient newspapers he scattered cross the
floor
Stained by the wine from a shattered glass,
meaningless words, yellowed by time,
Faded photos exposing pain, celluloid leeches bleeding my
mind
You've finished playing hangman, you've cast the fateful dice
Advise, advise, advise me, this shroud will not suffice.
Attempting to discard these clinging memories,
I only serve to wallow in our past
I fabricate the weave with my excuses,
its strands I hope and pray shall last
Oh please do last.
The flytrap needs the insect, ivy caresses the wall
Needles make love to the Junkies, sirens seduce with their
call
Confidence has deserted me, with you it has forsaken me
Confused and rejected, despised and alone,
I kiss isolation on it's fevered brow
Security clutching me, obscurity threatening me
Your reasons were so obvious as my friends have qualified
I only laughed away your tears, but even jesters cry
I realise I hold the key to freedom,
I cannot let my life be ruled by threads
The time has come to make decisions,
the changes have to be made
I realise I hold the key to freedom,
I cannot let my life be ruled by threads
The time has come to make decisions,
the changes have to be made.
Now I leave you, the past has had its say
You're all but forgotten a mote in my heart
Decisions have been made.
Decisions have been made I've conquered my fears
the flaming
shroud. |
| Garden
Party |
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Garden Party held today, invites call the debs to play,
social climbers polish ladders, wayward sons again have
fathers,
edgy eggs and queing cumbers, rudely wakened from their
slumber,
time has come again for slaughter on the lawns by still Cam
waters.
Champagne corks are firing at the sun again
Swooping swallows chased by violins again
Straafed by Strauss they sulk in crumbling eaves again.
Apertifs consumed en masse display their owners on the grass
Couples loiter in the cloisters, social leeches quoting
Chaucer.
Doctor's son a parson's daughter where why not and should they
oughta
Please don't lie on the grass, unless accompanied by a
fellow,
may I be so bold as to suggest Othello.
Punting on the Cam is jolly fun they say
Beagling on the downs Oh please come they say
Rugger is the tops a game for men they say.
Angie chalks another blue, mother smiles she did it too
Chitters chat and gossips lash, posers pose pressmen flash.
Smiles polluted with false charm, locking onto Royal arms,
Society columns now ensured, return to mingle with the crowds
Oh what a
crowd. |
| Chelsea
Monday |
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Catalogue princess, apprentice seductress
living in her cellophane world in glitter town
Awaiting the prince in his white Capri
Dynamic young tarzan courts the bedsit queen.
She's playing the actress in this bedroom scene
She's learning her lines from glossy magazines
Stringing all her pearls from her childhood dreams
Auditioning for the leading role on the silver screen.
Patience my tinsel angel, patience my perfumed child
One day they'll really love you, you'll charm them with that
smile
But for now it`s just another Chelsea Monday.
Drifting with her incense in the labyrinth of London,
Playing games with faces in the neon wonderland
Perform to scattered shadows on the shattered cobbled aisles
Would she dare recite soliliquies at the risk of stark
applause.
Hello John, did you see the Standard about four hours ago?
Fished a young chick out the Old Father
Blonde hair, Blue eyes
She said she wanted to be an actress or something
Nobody knows where she came from, where she was going
Funny thing was she had a smile on her face
She was smiling
What a waste!
She'll pray for endless Sundays as she enters saffron
sunsets,
Conjure phantom lovers from the tattered shreds of dawn,
Fulfilled and yet forgotten the St. Tropez mirage
Fragrance aphrodisiac, the withered tuberose.
Patience my tinsel angel, patience my perfumed child
One day they'll really love you, you'll charm them with that
smile
But for now it's just another Chelsea Monday.
Catalogue princess, apprentice seductress
buried in her cellophane world in glitter town.
Of Chelsea Monday.
She was only
dreaming... |
| Forgotten
Sons |
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Armalite , street lights, nightsights
Searching the roofs for a sniper, viper fighter
Death in the shadows he'll maim you, wound you, kill you
for a long forgotten cause, on not so foreign shores,
boys baptised in wars.
Morphine, chill stream, bad dream
Serving as numbers on dogtags, flakrags, sandbags
Your friend has married your best friend, loves end, poison
pen
Your flesh will always creep, tossing turning sloop
The wounds that burn so deep.
Your mother sits on the edge of the world
when the cameras start to roll
Panoramic viewpoints ressurect the killing fold
Your father drains another beer he's one of the few that
cares
Crawling behind a saracen's hull
from the safety of his living room chair -
Forgotten Sons, Forgotten Sons, Forgotten Sons.
And so I patrol the valley of the shadow of the Tricolor
I must fear evil for I am but mortal and mortals can only die
asking questions, pleading answers from the nameless
faceless watchers that stalk the carpeted corridors of
Whitehall
Who order desecration, mutilation, verbal masturbation
in their guarded bureaucratic wombs
Minister, Minister care for your children, order them not
into damnation to eliminate those who would trespass
against you, for whose is the kingdom and the power and the
glory, forever and ever Amen - Halt who goes there, death,
approach friend
You're just another coffin on its way down the emerald aisle
Where the children's stoney glances mourn your death
in a terrorist's smile.
The bomber's arm places fiery gifts on the supermarket
shelves,
Alleys sing with shrapnel dance in a temporary hell
Forgotten Sons
From the dolequeue to the regiment a profession in a flash,
but remember Monday's signings when from door to door you
dash,
On the news a nation mourns your unknown soldier count the
cost,
For a second you'll be famous but labelled posthumous
Forgotten Sons Forgotten Sons
Ring of roses, they all fall down
Peace on earth and mercy mild, Mother Brown has lost her
child
Just another Forgotten Son
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