Sinister Themes

The villains of vaudeville
Young lovers' quarrels
Pearls before parliaments
Lepers in laurels
Roses that sprout from the throats of dead kings
Things in the songs with the sinister themes

Stockings and starlings
The laughter of dockworkers
Poets who flock through the cities like stockbrokers
Little Red Ridinghood living in sin
These are the songs with the sinister themes

Nasturtiums that bloom like voluptuous women
Joy in the orphan the dolphin when swimming
Fireworks and phoenixes, spas and hot springs
Sinister themes in the songs that I sing

Strumpets and kettledrums, musty old cellars
Coffee and stallions, cream and umbrellas
Angels caught up in their own puppet strings
Sinister themes in the songs that I sing

The orchid of meat in the cuckoo's nest growing
Kisses in syllables, sex when it's snowing
Forests where nightmares and nightingales sing
These are the songs with the sinister themes

My first is in eMbers, my second in wOman
My third in eMotion, my fourth is in hUman
My fifth is in sufferS and also in longS
My whole is in Momus and these are my songs

Last Of The Window-Cleaners

I was the last of the window-cleaners
I was sacrificed as such
When they singled out the ring-leaders
They said I'd seen too much
But I only saw what the butler did
The chambermaid also
I only saw how the other half lived
I just washed their windows

Maybe up my ladder I got ideas above my station
Seldom if ever had a working man had a higher education
I learned to value clarity
And that knowledge is a two-way thing
That when windows attain transparency
working men get a good look in

But times are bad for window-cleaners
Worse than the 1930s
If it's not cowboys and amateurs
Who don't know where the dirt is
It's our most powerful customers
Who'll wipe us out eventually
They've lost the taste for clarity
In the late 20th century

They took away our permits
And imposed a window tax
People became like hermits
Sitting in their pitch black flats
And though we remained intransigent
And our pride in the work lived on
There was a series of mysterious accidents
And we died off one by one

I was the last of the window-cleaners
After the union was smashed
They found the corpses of the other ring leaders
Their fingers had been crushed
I received anonymous letters threatening attack
They struck at the Limehouse dock
Up drew a horse-drawn hackney cab
It was well past twelve o'clock

Out came a man with a lantern
Saying he'd come to light me to bed
Saying something to do with a chopper
And something to do with my head
But I wasn't listening carefully
There were other things on my mind
The failure of the union
The future of mankind

He spread his frock coat flat on the quay
And began positioning me there
Laid me back almost tenderly and flourished a butcher's cleaver
I shouted past him into the dark 'We're prepared to make concessions'
But the blade he twisted in my heart
Ended my profession

But times are bad for window-cleaners
Worse than the 1930s
If it's not cowboys and amateurs
Who don't know where the dirt is
It's our most powerful customers
Who'll wipe us out eventually
They've lost the taste for clarity
In the late 20th century

The Ladies Understand

When I was a little whippersnapper of a boy just 19 years of age
And I happened to stain the sheets on the bed or I happened to misbehave
The stains were lovingly washed away in a tub of soapy water
By the ladies I protected from a world of horrible slaughter

Then when at last I came of age and had to make my way
I set up shop with a dozen girls, so popular was I
I marched them up to the top of the town and there I had them loiter
There are many worse ways to earn your pay
In a world of horrible slaughter

But whenever a piece of ultraviolent thuggery is done
And the world looks on with heart in mouth, speechless and stunned
Remember that every offender is his own mother's son
Here is the song that I have always sung:

Give me mass in the morning, the booky's at noon
The brothel all night long
But I'll always be true to the ladies, the ladies understand
I'm their favourite
They love me, I treat them like shit

One of my girls did a runner one day with a lad from the orchestra
Who scraped a living on a violin and stayed at home with Ma
I ground his instrument into the ground
And Tracy, when I caught her, that time got off lightly
In this world of horrible slaughter

Now I've got a little whippersnapper of my own
Just at the difficult age
And if he happens to slash a girl to test
His army penknife blade
The blood is lovingly washed away in a tub of soapy water
By the girls he may protect one day from a world of horrible slaughter

Give me mass in the morning, the booky's at noon
The brothel all night long
But I'll always be true to the ladies
The ladies understand
I'm their favourite
They love me
I treat them like shit

Cape And Stick Gang

Word comes down on the party line
All the suckers on the grapevine are saying:
'Look out boys, here come the Capes and Sticks!'
And they jitter with the funk down Bulblight Lane
When the phone in the phonebox rings again
And it's the Cape and Stick Gang saying 'Just hang around
And we'll stick it to you quick!'

We're the Cape and Stick Boys
Whistling Lillie Langtry
How we laugh when we hear them sigh
The girls who never catch our eye
Wear capes and carry sticks
And the gang is gay

And the rookie's in the alley with his home-made drag in a polythene bag
And the rookie say 'Uh oh, looks like I got out the wrong side of my bed today!'
Cos the Capes and Sticks are waiting for him
And they pierce his ears with a safety pin
And the rookie's trying to laugh it off saying
'I was thinking of doing that anyway'

They mount a double-decker with their Lyons Maids
Sit down on either side of a girl with braids
With too much lipstick on her too-thin lips
And a handbag made of lizard
And the Cape in front of her charms her
Smiles in her face and disarms her
And when they kiss the Stick behind her
Cut off her braids with a pair of folding scissors
Singing:

We're the Cape and Stick Boys
Lillie is our heroine
We play pool all through the air raid
Rape machines in the game arcade
Wear capes and carry sticks
And the gang is gay

Well they don't need knives for their sweet attacks
Just the sticks they keep down the front of their slacks
Big as a family heirloom, Daddy's randy hand me-down
And for a couple of crowns they'll take you to the docks
Whistling Lillie as they pull out their cocks
Drag you to the top of the gantry
Dangle you fifty feet above the ground, singing:

We're the Cape and Stick Boys
Whistling Lillie Langtry
How we laugh when we hear them sigh
The girls who never catch our eye
Wear capes and carry sticks
And the gang is gay

And on every man's hip there's a thermos flask
If you want a sip all you've got to do is ask
Maybe it's bromide tea or maybe ecstasy
They kiss the girls and make them cry
Then they kiss the boys, they're real bi-guys
And we've all got to die some way, some day
You follow me?

The Ultraconformist

I try to be normal, really I do
I try not to chew on my hat
I sit on the table, eat soup from the ladle
I really would like to be fat

If it paid to be straight God knows I'd be straight
God knows I'd be straight as a die
If I could get it on with a sweet little blonde
I swear I would give it a try

I'm an ultraconformist, I walk through the week
With my tongue in my pocket, my hand in my cheek
But I'd let out a cry as loud as the sky
If you could as on orderly guy
If you could as an ordinary guy

Singing boo ralla ralla
Boo ralla ree
Bang dilla mulla too ray
Singing boo tirra lirra
Moo ralla ralla
Filla gorilla today

If it paid to be sane, God knows I'd be sane
God knows I could live out a lie
If I could get a thrill popping little blue pills
I swear I would give it a try

I'm an ultraconformist I sit at my desk
With a gun in my pocket, a pain in my chest
But I'd let out a cry as loud as the sky
If you could as an ordinary guy
If you could as an ordinary guy

I'd be an ultraconformist, an orderly man
If these dustbin lids didn't just beg to be banged
And I'd let out a cry as loud as the sky
If you could as an ordinary guy
If you could as an ordinary guy

I'm an ultraconformist I walk through the week
With my tongue in my wallet, my wad in my cheek
But I'd let out a cry as loud as the sky
If you could as an ordinary guy
If you could as an ordinary guy

The Mother-in-Law

I, Bill Cotton, was the entertainment king
I ruled without hate or malice
And now that I'm on trial
I recall no crime
But I remember Alexandra Palace
When I started there I was a teenager
But not like they are today, all anoraks and acne
My face was polka dotted but my popular demotic
Went down dandy, setting the house on fire
Till Adolf's rockets described their arcs
And brought the old place down
But speaking seriously ever since then my aim has been
To entertain the Mother-in-Law

I was everybody's drunken brother-in-law
But my wedding reception roses were microphones
And when the table was cleared and the dishes were done
They gathered round their master's voice in every home
Then crackling Berlin and Hilversum and Rome
Gave way to a Cockney twang
With the timing of a jazz age genius
I remember those religious broadcasting blokes
Used to stop me right on Portland Place
And quote me right to my face
'In the land of the blind the winking man is king'
But speaking seriously ever since then my aim has been
To entertain the Mother-in-Law

Then in the years that followed the war
I was moved from razzmatazz to administration
They say we've all got a cross to bear
Mine was the task of altering
An eavesdropping to a voyeuristic nation
Well I never met Logie Baird but from what I've hear
That man was a smash hit at parties
If you asked him to describe TV
He immediately dropped to his knees
And mechanically scanned the carpets
In 240 lines, or was it 405?
Well never mind, they were punchlines every one
But speaking seriously ever since then my aim has been
To entertain the mother-in-law

To cut a long story short I ended up in court
With the entire cast of the Black and White Minstrel Show
(There must be a million or more)
So tell me where have I seen these pearly gates?
Where have I heard that title before?
'The Day of Judgement' - must be cable or Channel Four
But when I'm introduced I can't believe my ears
I stand accused of blasphemy
And making graven idols
And for the first time in my life
(Although I realise I'm dead)
I laugh my head off when I'm fed
My ultimate punch line
My five-minute call for the eternal show time
'The devil is the mother of my wife'
But speaking seriously ever since then my aim has been
To entertain the mother-in-law

La Catrina

La Catrina has come back from the dead
And is searching for the love she never had
La Catrina has come back from the dead
For the time of her life
Alive she never had
Sometimes she cries
And sometimes she laughs
On her face she wears impossible expressions
And her dress is the dress
That the ladies all wore
In the days before the old revolution

Dance in the spring
Dance in the sun, young girl
Don't wait till you've become what I've become
Don't wait till you're as dead as I am
Dance now while you still can
Dance in the spring
Dance in the sun, young girl
Dance naked for a man
While you still can
It's too late when you're as dead as I am

Me and La Catrina are walking arm in arm
She's so elegant, so handsome and so dead
Me and La Catrina are dancing face to face
It's the time of her life
A life she never had
See how she cries!
See how she laughs !
On her face she wears impossible expressions
And her dress is the dress
That the ladies all wore
In the days before the old revolution
Dance your life
Dance your life away

La Catrina is dancing in her skeleton
La Catrina with her mouldy dress and boots still on
On her skull a single strand of hair
Between the pelvic bones thin air
And then she opens up her thighs
And tells me what it's like to die
And sings her love song

The Cheque's in the Post

Me and my lawyer sat down and worked out
The full cost of the wrongs I have done you
And I'm sending the money to you
The cheque's in the post

For giving you hell
When I should have been treating you well
Reparation: 500 £5 notes in a roll

For remarks about your weight
For complaining when you were late
Compensation: £2000, the going rate

For the times we were out
And my eye kept roving about
Settling on younger women
Fifteen hundred, say it's forgiven

Running total: £6 350
With tax added on
And that's Just the end of verse one

For attacking your superstition
Your pantheistic new age religion
Say the sum of £1797

When I said your new dress wasn't splendid
When I told you the way the film ended
I know I was wrong: accept this token
£7000

And for passing the pictures I'd taken
Of your body totally naked
Around our friends
Let's call it a round £9 000

Running total: £24 063
On its way to you
And this is just the end of verse two

Me and my lawyer sat down and worked out
The real cost of the wrongs I have done you
And I'm sending the money to you
The cheque's in the post

And for my next indiscretion
When we had sex on the floor of the kitchen
I sang it in a song -- accept 10 000 -- make that 11 000 pounds

And for failing to give enough time
To the baby that could have been mine
It's not that I don't care
My love it's just so hard to find a figure

Worst of all I stopped loving your body
Making you feel so low
Though my lawyer says no blame can be apportioned
For circumstances beyond my control
So now I'm all paid up
And absolved from this guilt
I'm going to get another girl in
Under my quilt
And run up
Another massive debt

Hail Mary, pray for me now
Now and at the hour of my death

Spy On The Moon

There is a spy on the moon who is spying on the earth
Taking note of everything we do
I heard him say he's afraid
He says he's pretty glad
That we're down here and he's up on the moon

And he sees circles in circles and spirals spinning round
The earth is flying up or falling down
And lovers walk on the shore leaving footprints on the sand
Their eyes are green or blue their eyes are brown

There is a hole in the sky where the love is going away
The love is going away for ever more
There is a bump in the road and a creeper on the stair
And somebody is knocking at the door

There is a queue on the street and an office full of chairs
And people having fantasies in cars
There is a bed in the garden, the moon is shining down
On drunkards drinking Guinesses in bars

Twenty filter tips at the motorway garage
The sky behind the petrol pumps is green
There is a bunk in the shed where a man is lying dead
Murdered by the things he'll never be


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