: I see a dark sail on the horizon set under a black cloud that hides the sun. Bring me my broadsword and clear understanding. Bring me my cross of
: In the half-tone light of a young morning she sighs and shifts on the pillow. And across her face dancing, the first shadows fly to kiss the Pussy
: Fallen on hard times - but it feels good to know that milk and honey's just around the bend. Running on bad lines - we'd better run as we go, Tear
: I sit by the cutting on the Beaconsfield line. He's watching me watching the trains go by. And they move so fast - boy, they really fly. He's still
: Along the coast road, by the headland the early lights of winter glow. I'll pour a cup to you my darling. Raise it up - say Cheerio.
: Take you away for my magic ship. I have two hundred deisel horses thundering loud. Sea birds call your name and the mountain's on fire as the summer
: Shout if you will, but that just won't do. I, for one, would rather follow softer options. I'll take the easy line; another sip of wine, and if
From early days of infancy, through trembling years of youth, long murky middle-age and final hours long in the tooth, he's the hundred names of terror
I see a dark sail on the horizon set under a black cloud that hides the sun. Bring me my broadsword and clear understanding. Bring me my cross of
Fallen on hard times - but it feels good to know that milk and honey's just around the bend. Running on bad lines - we'd better run as we go, Tear
Shout if you will, but that just won't do. I, for one, would rather follow softer options. I'll take the easy line; another sip of wine, and if I
In the half-tone light of a young morning she sighs and shifts on the pillow. And across her face dancing, the first shadows fly to kiss the Pussy
Take you away for my magic ship. I have two hundred deisel horses thundering loud. Sea birds call your name and the mountain's on fire as the summer
Would you join a slow marching band? And take pleasure in your leaving as the ferry sails and tears are dried and cows come home at evening. Could
we travellers on the endless wastes in single orbits, gliding cold-eyed march towards the dawn behind hard-weather hoods a-hiding. Meeting as the
I sit by the cutting on the Beaconsfield line. He's watching me watching the trains go by. And they move so fast - boy, they really fly. He's still
Along the coast road, by the headland the early lights of winter glow. I'll pour a cup to you my darling. Raise it up - say Cheerio.