Name

 You can say I'm better

Or you can say I am the same,

I would love you better if you could 

remember my name

Name, I want to live forever

No, I want to die in a flame

Come on write me a letter

People remember my name

All away

 Away, all away now

Oh you throw it all away

Well I've seen it all before

Like a desert floor

When you've thrown

It all away

Away, oh away now

Throw it all away

See that open door

Watch the ocean pour

When you have thrown

It all away

Away, all away now

You have thrown it all away

Well in the roll of a dice

Between the fire and the ice

When you've thrown it

All away

Away, oh away now

Throw it all awy

Like so many times before

Could've been rich but now you're poor

Because you've thrown

It all away

Penn hill

 Upon Penn hill

Where the pheasant trill

Their startled bagpipe tones

I am alone on cobble stone

Where the bridlepath lays still

Where is the bride? Whose marriage is

It I am running to?

And where is the altar of marathon

Who will be my bride?

Upon Penn hill 

Where the scruffy magic mushroom pickers glean

And hurry and harry the tuffts

That carry their magic bean

And the farmer who sits in his rover and scowls

And the mast's falling over

Because of the owls

The red planets are rolling down pen hill

And a mars bar a day will likely make you ill

The red planets are tumbling

Like bulls down the meadow

Rolling over dozing sheep

There is a war of bells

These red globes collide with churches

Knocking over towers, and school halls

And crushing cars parked in roads

Others swerve out their way

Out their way run the flock, the parishioners, the beadle and the cock

Who crows out his warning in tides of socks

That come falling from the farmer's wife's chest

The mushroom pickers themselves probably think they live on Mars

Wandering around the base of the Microwave tower

Sending them their digital waves, or beaming out to stars

Their mushroom addled brain saves all this as useable power

First they see the footage of the first man on the moon

Then Neil Armstrong is next to them feeding them from a spoon

Saying get better young man America will need you soon

When in reality they are in a Mendip field on a Saturday afternoon

Then suddenly a pheasant beater is perched upon a wall

Calling to his pheasant shooters with his favourite border collie

And as you jog the trees they toggle, in a sense they freeze

And rocks and salt all fill your throat with words you cannot say

And daleks from Mars remind you of those heady summer days

When all this dust, was just like lust, that fades into moon haze

And I can hardly hold it, the weight of boulders up the valley

The weight of feathers waiting to be exploded

By the shot-guns held in shoulders, or cradled in the arms

Of rich and upper class tories who love to tell their stories

Of how they shot down Mars with one moon shot

And wiped out the disease of the red spot

When really the virus like the pheasants came from

Jupiter instead

And Io was with Europa looking on shaking her head

Just for fun

I'm not serious oh not me
I'm not serious anyone can see
There is no commitment
No long term husbandry
I'm not looking for something serious
I am just for fun

Just make me up
Take me up then throw me away
I am just the trash you find
Blowing on the motorway
I am of no matter no gravity or weight
If you let me go I'll simply float away into space
I don't want no commitment
I'm not looking for a serious affair
This is no kind of business
I come with no contract of care
I could be your boyfriend your girlfriend your great despair
I'm the hope you keep locked up
I'm not a someone
I'm just for fun

Firing Squad

She said that time
went upwards
And I said I thought that was spiders
No memories, she claimed
Were washed down the drain
When the single sun shines in the sky

I got the feeling of abbreviation
In the annulment clause
That somebody was not
Connecting what I was feeling
Like a draft coming in from outdoors

The house was sacred yet shattered
It had been, but would be for no more
The type on the computer mattered
But it was tattered prit-prattled
and poor
By the evening of the atomic bomb
A large shark was thrown through the roof
And the oceans boiled
As with turtles and whales
Who suddenly knew their own truth

You she said in closing
Have been acquitted of the true crime
There was dust on the shelves
Of your library of selves
The further back you looked in time

A candle was burning the evening
A thought conspired to form
But extinguished it was
By the hot winds flush
From the salty fleshed
Women of the storm

I slugged my way to the carpet
And left with a terrible head
The dawn came up on the parapet
And in the morning we counted the dead