1. |
Hey, Get Out of My Way
02:14
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They tug, they hoof, they foam at the mouth.
Me, me, me, got to get home.
Got to get to the gym, get to the game, get you out of my way.
The youth tweet, eat fatty meat.
Who taught them that?
Who got them that fat?
We meet at the gate,
oh how they hate a guy my age.
Go fathom out why.
They fume at me, they go tut, tut.
How oft they get me out of the way.
Out of the way!
A mouthy guy got tough.
A hefty thug got gamey too.
A toothy hag, a goofy oaf.
Oh how they fought me out of the way.
Hey, get out of the way.
Ought we to get out of the way, get out of the way?
You, get out, get out of my way!
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2. |
The Pigsty Playhouse
03:04
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The playhouse pulsates to a lousy tale.
I ought to say, it is a sight... as the posse eats its supplies.
Salty pasties, apple pies.
A tipsy guy gulps at his ale,
gets up, goes out, has a slash.
His pal taps at his apps, eats a stash.
A piteous ass pops out to the shop,
ploughs a path up the aisle to the seats up top.
He stops to sip his tea.
It is easily spilt as the hot spout splits.
It gushes out the pot, goes splat,
splish, splosh, splash at the playhouse!
It so piles up at the playhouse.
The upset plates soil the seats.
It's a pigsty, this ugly pesthole is the pits!
It so piles up at the playhouse,
the huge heaps happily stop the gaps.
A pile-up at the playhouse, a pile-up at the playhouse...
You pity a pig, you pity its plight.
A yelp, a yap..!
Ah, the lights!
It so piles up at the playhouse.
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3. |
Growth Mania
03:48
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4. |
Oh Hell !
02:25
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Oh hell!
Oh heck!
Life, one huge con!
No luck, no fluke, no,
one long flunk, life!
Oh hell!
OOOOOOOOh hell.
No fun.
None gone on none, nil.
No folk I like, no logic, no link.
No clue, no hunch
no gain, no lunch,
none.
One huge con (life),
one hulking lie (life),
one lifelong con.
One huge con.
Oh hell, oh f..., f...,
(Oh f******* hell).
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5. |
Am I Technology?
03:43
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Oh my almighty, holy machine,
a theologian might hoot at me,
yet I chant, to Thy angelic gleam, a hymn, mmmm
I get an ache, an itch, a tingle.
Mooching at home, I'm not one to mingle.
Gently tangle me in Thy net.
Once I am in Thy magic, I go hey, I got a cool game.
I'm not only me, I can change my name,
get a monthly income in a mythical economy,
I got technology.
I'm leching hotly at the coital action.
Then I halt it to get the match on.
A timely goal gone to my team, yeah,
I got, I got, I got...
It aint my aim to get me a honey,
to get among the many,
to gaily chat to men in the city.
I got technology.
Am I alone in an alien colony,
a clone on an alien moon?
Am I gloomy, one gone looney?
Am I...
technology? I am.
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6. |
Spray the Champers
02:56
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The racer sprays the champers.
at the cameras, the tarmac, the hampers.
He hears the cheers.
As the spray reaches the parapets, he chases a cateress.
She scarpers as he pesters her, screams, scampers.
He sprays the champers.
A yachter sprays the seascape.
As he steers he stares at the stars.
He respects the sea, yet, as she crashes, he's at her mercy.
At Easter, a teacher sprays the carpet.
Patches appear, messy smears.
The cat escapes, the hamster scrapes, the teacher retches.
The spasms he has are the same each year.
The champers appeases career heartache.
A teary actress sprays her mates.
Yet the trays are empty, the partyers espy the crates.
The spare, the rare, the cheap, the secret.
They see empty space.
The ecstasy ceases.
The empathy ceases.
The paper apes separate.
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7. |
Led by Blind Faith
03:28
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In a fable,
a tale they tell in a bible,
a fallen deity bled and bled.
And left the faith in thy head.
Led by a faith all blind and deaf.
I identify a lethal lie,
a filthy fib, a deathly idyll.
They fill a fat and idle head
all blinded by a deadly ideal.
Hidden behind the alibi,
a fiend beat an infidel,
had a fella die
and hit a dainty lady, hell,
I'd lift the lid, ban the habit,
halt it, bit by bit.
And if it faded and fell flat
a fine and dandy day it'd be!
I'd let faith bend all flabbily,
ail and die, finally!
I'd hail the end and bid bye bye
I bet I'd yell, “I hated it,” thy...
flat denial...
Led by a faith all blind and deaf,
deaf and blind in a thin blind alley.
Inhabited by it in daily life,
nibbled at by it in thy belly.
Led by blind faith.
Led by it.
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8. |
The Borechestra
02:09
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As the orchestra roars, the orchestra bores,
bores to the core, to be here's a chore as
the orchestra botches the score.
The beats are so brash.
Bash! Crash!
The orchestra bores.
These teeth here throb, the hearers sob as the orchestra bores, roars.
The ears are shot, the cheers are rather short,
as the orchestra bores to the core.
Ah, a breather, a chatter here, a chatter there.
Here are the beers, these three are to share.
Oh to be at the theatre to see actors act, that's best.
See the art at the Tate, a horse at a race, or rest.
Retreat to the coast to scatter the cash, taste the tea, eat the toast,
to bathe at the beach, to stare at a chest, a bare breast.
As the orchestra roars, the orchestra bores,
bores to the core, to be here's a chore as
the orchestra roars, bores to the core.
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9. |
A Berk on a Dirt Bike
03:22
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10. |
I Saw a Damsel Swooning
03:06
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I was sailing on a womanless sea, no ladies idling alongside me.
I saw a seaman snog a lass, and swig wine on an ideal island.
So I sailed along alone, in a sad old gloominess...
A diagnosis said I was a lesson in dismal looniness.
I was a male in denial, one saw in me no manliness.
I made no sign, I mean I was so misaligned.
And, on a downswing, I saw no good in wooing women.
Wowing and losing women was an aimless mission.
So, I imagined wild liaisons,
legs widening, loins loosening, wisdom doing a domino.
I saw one loose and gladsome gal go down on a salesman
as an ad man and a gasman slid inside a moaning widow.
Sailing on a womanless sea, no ladies idling along...
I swam on in a dilemma and soon sensed I was assailed.
So I lassoed a wingless demon, and laid low on a mainland sand,
dossing down on a mangled log amid daisies and magnolias.
“No good slowing down, I said, “O go again, O go anew!”
And, easing along in a wagon, gained mileage.
And, landing in a wooden saloon...
Saw a damsel in a swoon!
As soon as I saw said damsel swoon, a wide smile and an angel's glow,
I made no alien signals, no, I made a sole and solemn admission:
“I seldom saw so good a woman, wed me on a gondola,” I said,
sensing an egomania ending and a long insomnia mending.
Now we own a domain, we dig a salad and do lasagna.
Aims and goals asswage old woes as we manage an agenda.
And as a golden gladness dawns, on mead and meadow and mown lawn,
we noodle on a mandolin, and sing and slam.
I saw a damsel swooning.
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Tall Paul Grundy Lille, France
Piano songs and meditations
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