To sit beneath the silver stars
And watch the firelight flicker
To rise at dawn and leap unclothed
Through golden fields of wicker
from ‘Fields Of Wicker’, Albion Parade
Darkness consumes, the space and the hole.
Emptiness dancing is dressed as a kiss.
The ghost of your spirit,
Haunting my kitchen
I dream of a knife-edge, my mixer taps drips
(chorus)
Cry out! Apollo!
Slap the meat from my hands
Howl at my porch-light,
Creature of utility,
Use my futility,
Sweet loser of the lost.
from ‘Loser Of The Lost’, Conway
Sweet gypsy princess with your head in the clouds
The hour of sweet love we are nearing
Put your tarot cards down, let us lay on the ground
By the light of your big silver earring
(chorus)
Lay with me a while
On fence, on gate, on stile
Oh lay with me a while
You sun-kissed moonlight child
Yes lay with me a while
With grimace or with smile
On my ol’ tarpaulin on the dewy ground.
from ‘My Ol’ Tarpaulin’, Hamdy’s News
Too low to be high
Too low to be high, yeah.
Not enough elevation to reach for the sky,
I’m too low to be high,
Too low to be high,
But I’m getting there
Don’t know where’s there,
But I’m getting there.
from ‘Too Low to be High’, Jetload
Albion Parade 