The late, late blues

Mean streets and the folly
of being just partly dressed-up
with maybe half a place to go
where the women are all messed up
and the men mean next to nothing
so no one's putting out
turning cartwheels 'cross a dream
that explains what we're about

Someone's from the Gold Coast
and he's got a wish for when
all the whips are burried
and no planes come swooping in
but the silence on his western front
is badly broken by the wind
of bankers down with heartbreak
'fore the cross-eyed indian's squint

           love's got me lonely
           love's cut me loose
           love's got me tossing
           got me turning in the blues
           in the late, late, late, late blues

did I really know you then ?
once when you didn't have no twins
when the rooms were sad and lonely
but the glass filled to the brim
with aspirations burning brightly
in the twice-cursed neon light
and the song that  I was singing
never sounding quite allright

so now it's drama out there in the moonlight
where the uni-coloured strut
where the unifomed hatch their egg
of bitter lovelorn smut
time is near for the beheading
with all the easy women out
at the edges of the stage
all the run-down cripples shout

          refr.


1979.