cemetery nights

Cemetery nights
And the wild wind
The holes in the heart
Where the rain gets in
The dogs that lose their barks
Each time the song begins
On those Cemetery nights
When you're under my skin

The frozen love triangle
That they fit over the balls
Then the reds and yellows
Like ghostly eyes that roll
And you hit them with your
Bone white cue
And they knock around the table
Going this way and that
Looking for escape where they are able

And all the sockets full of lockets
With photographs for my heart
Of lovers stuffed in pockets
As deep as I can laugh
But the joke was on me of course
Because I could not draw the graph
Of each pulse beat I made in retreat
From the position at the start

These Cemetery nights
Keep rolling off my shoulder
Billiards in graveyards
Tomb stones getting older
And we're a long time dead you know
We must live for the ones we love
And never give way to
The Grim reaper's sway
When he gives us the cold shove

There are Eleven bone rattlers
And twelve gravediggers working
In shifts
And they're burying more than
For what they get paid to lift
And they're using all their cunning,
looking at you kid
But you can't give them their way
Don't ever accept their gift

When the Cemetery nights are over
And the Sun begins to jowl
Then you'll see me from over your shoulder
And the dogs they'll begin to howl
For the crows have flown in the morning
The dust is blown from the flowers somehow
And I know I'll see you tomorrow
Each day is a tomorrow until now

Last train

Its the last train out of nowhere
The last train tonight
Batthyány tér I'm a nomad
Get no sleep tonight

Rails in the midnight
Wheels running fast
Making miles
With nowhere to go
Nowhere but the past

On the last train to nowhere land
The cities of the night fly by
Their lights remind of a certain regret
A certain twinkle in somebody's eye

Their flat iron sign and rails
Everything we should do
Follow the tracks where they trail
Don't do what you feel you'd like to

The last train out of nowhere
Last chance to fight
Step on board, I'm a nomad
Get no sleep tonight

Magazine People

Magazine People
They are ruined radishes
Playful carrots in the field
Felled cabbages in baskets
Brussel Sprouts whose storks
Have lost their zeal

They are greens gone black
Chard that's gone hard
All the wet lettuces of a farmer's yard
They are onions that smell
And garlic gone rotten
And piles of peas gone soggy at the bottom
Strung out parsnips and hung up runner beans
And this is what I think of their magazine

Their world is a balderdash
Their lives are a joke
They fill up their time
With mirrors and smoke
And none of them know
What they really mean
Now this is what I think of their magazine

They are liars and cheats
And cowards and scoundrels
Sheep that bleat
Horses hooves and pigs feet
And rotten chicken dirty meat
Fouled by the fowl it comes from

They're over-salted pork
And twisted metal fork
That gets stuck their teeth
And jerks
And all the above and some underneath
I can ascribe to my general belief
That all their words are daisies under a mower
Headless ineffective
An insult to the sewer
And soon their seed dies
For it falls on fallow ground

And their crops will fail
Their birds make no sound
It will become like after
On nuclear scene
Now this is what I wish for their bloody magazine

They could make it better
But their vision is so mean
No hope for the future
Only keep doing what is clean
And sanitary and safe
And nothing worth spit
Just a puddle of martyr's blood
Has washed down their screen

And their front covers lie
About what has been
And which celebrity does what
With whom and in between
There lies nothing of substance
Nothing to glean
Just another pack of lies
With each new page that's seen

And this is what I think of their magazine

Magazine

See their faces in the magazine
All traces of the scum they've seen
Obliterated in the cases of
Top quality wine drunk through a skein

All the faces on the magazine
These old rotten guys, these girls
In the knackers yard
These caked on masks
They light comments that bask
In the glory of former days

Those days of Hey,
Of when the grass was green
Those faces in the magazine

Whose faces are they we've seen
Bits of our own broken skin?
Flaking pieces of a jigsaw puzzle
Because if you don't ask the questions
Of your own life in childhood
Beyond a certain point
It doesn't exist
And no amount of interviews
Can ever summon back those summers
Except on the covers of those Magazines

Those film stars of films that they've starred in
Like your own lives only you jarred
And forgot to grin
Or grinned to hard
And lost the musket, lost the mustard gas mask
So you choked slightly all summer
After the war
And in the yard your pet dog died
In an agricultural accident
But it didn't play out that way in the film
It was edited down when they cut that scene
Just so it would fit into the magazine

So what we want are the lies
Fill us with bull shit
Make us eat pork pies
There are no more spies
No more double agents
Double pages of print
Of ties that leave you
With tears in your eyes
Nothing but splints, crutches
Pig sties and butchers
Who hold up bloody shoulders of lamb
That has been fattened on the green
That once frolicked on the
Pages of the zine

In the heat of the sun

In the heat of the sun
In the dead of the night
I carry a gun
So I know I'll be alright

But the Stinging bees
Begin to bite
In the heat of the sun
And the dead of the night

I'm at a million to one
In the odds at the fight
In the heat of the sun
And the dead of the night

50 times fifty ton
Of weight feels light
In the heat of the sun
And the dead of the night

Don't shoot me son
I'm far too bright
In the heat of the sun
And the dead of the night

The bulls in the field run
Broken fences in sight
In the heat of the sun
And the dead of the night

Who knows where they've gone
If there will be a fight
In the heat of the sun
And the dead of the night

The land is undone
The sea is in flight
In the heat of the sun
And the dead of the night

The baker burns his bun
The king turns white
In the heat of the sun
And the dead of the night

Blue habit of a nun
Black birds of fright
In the heat of the sun
And the dead of the night

Shooting Stars

I hope you stay on the bright side of life
Always going up
Stay away from strife
I hope you suckle on life's bosom
Like the bee on the honey blossom
I wish you get the good things in life
And all the happiness found in freedom
But most of all above all these
I wish you love and wisdom

I cannot count the ways I love you
There are too many for my hand
I stand like a cockerel in the morning
And crow the dawning over the land

My love has risen like the ocean
Swelled up like a wave of emotion
But comes crashing down on the shore
Whose beach stretches to your door

I see you like the colours of a rainbow
Multifaceted dream like knit
The colours painted in a nebula
A cloud of gas, where new stars sit

Where new stars burn and light up
The darkness
Of all space and its vacuum starkness
Naked in your heavenly body
I fall into your void black hole

But worm tunnels pull me out again
I am the worm in your Swiss cheese cube
And God has rolled me as a dice
But I cannot see where through Hubble's tube

There is like a kaleidoscope of images
Each one me and each one you
And we dance inside these lens
Through which creation has made us huge

And if I were an astronomer
I'd have named you a star by now
But I am but a poet and a liar
And so I sing songs of a sacred cow

All the crows fly up the tower
And the bats are circling round
And what love there is in the hour
Is enough as each ring hits the ground

As each shooting star must know
To each up there is a down
And as you fall remember me this reason
That for tonight you wore your crown

Baguettes Again

So the Frenchman said his brake,
And the frogman said whose benches?
I sat down here last Tuesday Eve
But the rain like a candle drenches
The rain like wax it sticks, it stenches
It drips from the flame of the Sun

And God held the candle
Like he held me as a child
When I thought he and I were one
And he squeezed the sun
And I'm always trying to get back
That time when all was full
The sun I mean not moon
The moon is always waxing when
You become an adult
And the Sun is always waning on
Having melted its impossible shell
Of a candle
That make you believe perfection is soon gone