Spanish Guitar Bossa Nova

 Listen up listen

I've gotta tell ya my opinion

About al these playboy

fly-by medallions

Hanging round in their millions 

Like flies on a corpse, call the reporters

Call the hearse, write the raptors

Left for dead or worse

By the drive-by shooting

The night jar hoodlums

Who squeak like Nascar wheels

In the old bazaar deals

Well they've been squealing too

Like piggies stealing ciggies from the food mart

Bart, simpson, no mozart, Bartholemew

Higgins of the Boson fame, ships maine sail

Boson head the coxsawain, the sailors remain

Orsmen, boarsmen hunting down the wild war

mongering men, fishing for the guts and

Glory, its the same old story morning hoary

Through the pie hole

In the sky pole under vaunted roofs

Veritable like lead windows

Blown and fool-proof

But they had to catch you at them,

They had to sign the truth

The search warrant wouldn't cut it

It needed a razor tooth

Tiger biting the paper bark canoe

Of our sanities and majesties in tweedle dum, tweedle dee

Tee shirt wearing match stick men

Dumped like bitumen on the roads

And rolled over again and again

But the drive by shoot before thinking youths

That drink battery acid

Think they're battle proof

But we see through them like the glass

Windows that trap them where they are

Mean they will always be driving around the same cars

Until they are behind bars

Or worse

Someone call a hearse

I think I killed a nurse

When I shot at you

Oh I wish it were me

Not you in that grave that day

But its true

We don't get blue

When the sky turns grey

We get even

Stevens

In the good old fashioned way

How we die of pride

 And the preacher said he had been a good man

And his mother said he had nothing to hide

But what no one could understand

was how he could have died of pride

Yes we all have known the badlands

We know they have secrets to hide

And even the city fathers and the lawman

They both died of pride

Well she lived in seedy districts

Where flowers rarely bloomed

And she held a candle to the instincts

That was how her bust just boomed

But even that was as a cola can

She kicked down the city street side

But it wasn't enough to keep her man

That was how she died of pride

Well they went to the village

Where the lions slept

And they held out their baskets of fruit to accept

But it was no use, there were no Pets

And so they died of pride

Hard lives

 Hard lives, hard lives,

Hard lives in the private eye

Can't disguise hard lives

Hard lives in the private eye

Out of focus, hocus pocus

Hard lives going round the bend

Hard lives, hard lives

Hard lives of some good friends

Whose lives, your lives?

Our lives living til the end

Hard lives, short dives

Short dives off the dive board end

Paper chain men

 I guess you wanted someone different

In that head of eyes

I guess you looked over my shoulder

In the furtive glance you tried to disguise

I guess the boat came out the water

I guess our airship has left these skies

For when I look I can see no quarter

That you have not cut up like a heart of lies

Paper chain men and women go walking

Down the street, down the  rise

Off the railway sidings

From where they lay down in the tracks their lives

Now all is paper thin, you see the skin

Is almost see through

And what they write in front

Can be read just the same from behind

No, we do exist, even if made of paper

Paper town, Japanese disguise

Paper Geishas walking

Wait for the ghost train's returning promise

Paper men and women talking

Break the chain of compromise

Olfactory

 I work in an Owl factory

Where we collect the pellets

We put the pellets on pallets

It can get quite smelly

In the Owl factory

We produce mechanical Owls as well

For looking down wells

We employ plenty of Dental scientists

For looking down their mouths

Counting the teeth in the fish

mouth

Counting the ships in Plymouth

Counting the tombstones

In the graveyard

And generally hooting up in a tree

We tried to replicate it

With a clown's rubber horn

But found the sound too loud

And screeching

And not really eerie at all

Talking of Eerie I met an audiologist there

And an Ornithologist who had caught a hare

In his mouth

She was running across a field

Crying take me to the Olfactory

The audiologist listened

And the owl who went deaf

Had to visit a hospital

But suddenly, suddenly

The owl couldn't hear

He said it feels quite stuffy in here

Quite, stuffy, quite stuffy

And really quite queer

I've lost all hearing in my left ear

So his head turned around

And around did it go

Like a merry-go-round

At a Christmas show

He thought a mouse as big as a house

Is someone I should know

But if he crept up behind me

I couldn't tell the difference

between him and lightest snow

He'd visited the wrong doctor

Oh wouldn't you know

An orthodontist or and orthologist

Who stretched out his wings out

The other his legs they tightened on springs

And his Owl hoot shouted like an awful thing

Oh take me back to the Owl factory

Lads

 Come my lads in the train yard

You're not yet in the graveyard

Come my tame lads 

Who work in the tanyard

Come my lame dads

Who shirk in frame yard

Come free my dray cart

Take my load off homeward

Comfort and mirth lads

Down in the valley with the pub landlord

Carnival

 The carnival came

All flashing light and flame

And burst their firework

Of music into the night

The faux indians gyrated

The proper yokels

Did impressions of Hollywood

It is smart culture

Do not bring in the outside world to view

But bring it in with a distinct hue

One which when titrated through

The stockings of your mother

Or the vicar's pews

One which you see in your

Somerset gown, Somerset eyes

We'll consume it like a local

The carnival leaves town

Their lights are off

Unanimated

Just the skeleton remains

All the entertainment drained

Off to the next town

Like a pig slaughter

Like the prostitutes

These entertainers

Who stand up and are the travelling show

The dazzling glow

In the mid of winter

In the confluence of all their work

Like a theatre troupe

They make an event

A standing show 

In those moments they are famous

They carry the culture of the world in tow

And bring it to the sons and daughter

And for whom these dancing figures

Could be the real McCoy for all they know