A Room Lives in Lucy
Lyrics by Simon Jones
Music by AATT
I hear voices from another morning,
and in the sunlight I feel the room grow,
Oh, I feel the room grow.
Windows, white curtains, and the smooth walls,
but the night leaves her on the floor
Of a mansion's halls
And the feet on the floors.
I must get up off the floors.
Off the floors.
Off the floors.
Off the floor.
Off the floor.
Off the floor. (glass breaks in the audience)
In Lucy lives a room inside.
I feel someone's waking in my room again.
She says she's leaving, but she will never go.
Oh, she will never go.
Wilting, while waiting in the dark leaves.
She's stretching but she cannot reach...
For the pale flowers,
Watch their petals fall
To the floor.
Like the rain.
How it rains.
How it rains.
How it rains.
How it rains.
How it rains.
In Lucy lives a room inside.
There are such a lot of nice places that we could go.
There, there are a lot of nice places that we could go.
And there's so many beautiful places.
I've been there sometimes. Oh, where is it we go?
With the crumbled statues, in the dappled woods...
And the gentle laughter
Swirled around the room.
She's not gone.
How it rains.
She's not gone.
She's not gone.
She's not gone.
She's not gone.
She's not gone.
In Lucy lives a room inside.
Vincent Craine
Lyrics by Simon Jones
Music by AATT
It was late afternoon;
She sat watching never come to Vincent Craine.
And under the wet weather swollen doors, never came.
She pressed her knee up, underneath a wooden table.
As in her midriff, dread flutters like the treat
of love or pain.
There was a bowl of fruit shrinking on the table,
by a rusting spoon.
And over the mist-weary, distant hills, never came.
Through piles of wrecked cars, from the stagnant
pools of water.
From the abbatoir flies, that swarm, leach and
crawl in clamour lane.
She walked towards the door...
Pushed it open, and stood
Behind Vincent Craine. He leaned back and locked
his arms around her.
Thin, awkward legs.
They watched the sunlight slide in cold squares
across the walls.
They watched the sunlight slide in cold squares
across the walls.
Gone... Like the Swallows
Lyrics by Simon Jones
Music by AATT
Balancing on the wind;
leaning on the cliff-edged wind, in limbo.
He sees sand running through the fingers of his
left hand... and into the palm of his right.
He sees someone walking, in a hot dry wasteland --
young, hesitant steps.
Recognised her crooked fringe and narrow eyes.
Summer-cotton, patterned, light, threadbare
summer dress. Scratched ankles and
nail bitten hands.
Wanted to touch her cool brown hair...
But she was gone.
An aeroplane hummed way up in the sky,
high up, high, high above the clouds.
And a green teapot and a pair of boots,
a broken pocket watch and chain,
a born dead baby pig, lying pure white,
bloodless, soft and smooth as a gloved ladies hand...
A spinning wheel, a bill hook, an umbrella,
empty bottles of empty bottles,
a tin bath, a rip saw, a hat stand and a
slate grey pillbox hat...
They sailed past his grabbing hands and were gone...
Gone, like the swallows.
Stuttered words, stuttered words,
Voices asking questions he cannot hear.
Come and find us.
Step back or you'll fall.
But the aeroplane is humming so loud now...
Tried to cling to the summer-cotton, light threadbare,
sleeveless, patterend, dirty carnation sunflower
sweatstained primrose threabare dirty disappearing
decaying flowered fading cotton forgotten
fucking summer dress...
But it was gone.
Gone... like the swallows.
The Headless Clay Woman
Lyrics by Simon Jones
Music by AATT
The poplars stand as still as steeples,
Under a million scattered stars.
From rippled earth that's cracked and sleeping,
Under the frozen static stars.
The headless clay woman's
Shimmering body stands,
And the frost that locks her nakedness
melts away.
Through air that's crystal blackened shadows,
As sharp as the thickets' thorn and the ice,
She moves naked, slim and slender
Across the wild and trembling path.
The headless clay woman's
Motionless beauty shines...
Restless stars reflect in wet red streams
Across her back.
Her bare feet step across the split stones,
Past the water pump and the pail,
Round and round and round and round
the paint flaking empty house,
And past the glass warped window.
And the headless clay woman, she stands
half up and half down the stairs.
And she cannot see the bottom,
And she cannot see the top.
Slow Pulse Boy
Lyrics by Simon Jones
Music by AATT
Somewhere the blast furnace explodes...
plumes of amber in the night sky.
Each explosion bounces,
from horizon to horizon.
From horizon...to horizon.
And for a while,
The slow pulse boy, he stood by the window.
And let the fire sink into his skin.
And again all was still...
But for the empty tin, rolling up and down the gutter,
on the breeze.
Then we were standing very close.
I could live in the space between his heartbeats.
Outside, the furnace erupts again,
and dark red rivers filled our veins with frenzy.
We could tear out the floors, and find all the things
we'd ever lost.
We'd find all the things we'd ever lost.
And fire burns in our jack boots...
So we chase the explosions,
From horizon, to horizon.
Wrap ourselves around the distance, for
as long as we can hold.
Somewhere a girl is singing.
There is calm in the air,
but there is greater calm than I can bear.
Tomorrow the sun shines.
Virus Meadow
Lyrics by Simon Jones
Music by AATT
Rattled chime, slow ringing echo
Roll around in virus meadow.
Suck enchanted nightshade twine,
stolen beneath them chime.
Sinking sermon, priest head murmurs
Holy words across the meadows.
Kissed the plague's black rolling hand,
As from his lips the virus sang.
And the rooks seem to follow him
wherever he goes,
Flapping in the flat sky, shrieking from the spire,
dangling from the lead sky, hanging from the sun.
The rooks, they seem to follow him...
Wherever he goes.
Nodding thistle, English sun-dew,
Swansneck woman, child bed meadow.
Aching shoulders sink and grow
as the bells from ditches toll.
And the smeared, skin-wrapped limbs
of the night brothers.
Struggling, crawling,
through the empty crack of morning.
And the night brothers.
And the night brothers.
And the night brothers.
And the night brothers.
Thank you, good night, thank you.
So this is Silence
Lyrics by Simon Jones
Music by AATT
Simon's microphone goes out early in the song (italicized).
Only "verted face" from the line is audible.
So this is silence...
The boy walked round the jagged rocks,
caught between ideals and desires.
He shrinks into oblivion..
And there was silence, as he sat so still,
averted face stared at the floor.
So this is silence.
So this is silence.
Silence.
Listen... Listen!
The sounds of laughter, the frenzied
and blind violence of fear.
Listen, the sound of laughter
the frenzy, blind violence of fear.
Alone again, with light and silence,
alone again with the skies.
Alone again, with light and silence,
alone again with the skies.
So this is silence.
So this is silence.
So this is silence.
So this is silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence! Silence!
Silence! Silence! Silence! Silence!
Silence! Gunshots. Carcrash. Idiot cries. Raindrops.
Footsteps. Gunshots. Footsteps. Raindrops. Idiot
cries. Gunshots. Gunshots. Gunshots. Silence!
The Renegade
Words by Albert Camus, from The Renegade
Music by Ton Ton Macoute
(S. Atkinson, J. Hobman, T. Lee)
Appears on CD version only.
"Order and method," the tongue says.
But what a jumble. Oh, what a jumble.
"Order and method," the tongue says.
Over my words words, I fall, I stumble.
I stall and fumble.
Oh, this tongue wags on and on.
And I hear too many things.
Oh, I hear too many things.
And I must tidy up my mind.
Like the sun at Auschwitz, I was welcomed by the blind.
Burning, burning in the City of Salt,
I will learn to love hatred.
Oh, I will learn to love hatred.
Since they cut out my tongue, it seems that another
tongue has been wagging in my head.
Oh, I hear to many things.
"Order and method."
"Order and method."
"Order and method," the tongue says.
But, what a jumble. Oh, what a jumble.
Mercenary or missionary?
Mercenary or missionary?
It's not only the blind who cannot see...
The sunlight it pours into me.
"Order and method."
Oh, I must tidy up my mind.
Burn, burning in the City of Salt.
Oh, I have learned to love hatred.
Oh, I will learn to love hatred.
And I must tidy up my mind.
"Order and method."
Order, Order, Order, Order
"Order and method," the tongue says.
