Lyrics - CQB 2005


Drink Last impressions of a chair, worn out arms, smell of hair, a cardigan lying where you left it. Sour milk, dirty plates, wasted chances, used by dates, words that couldn't wait. Beer breath and weekend treats, Saturday lies and Sunday meats. Johnny's in the basement, Mama's at the sink, Daddy's up the greenhouse and I'm on the drink again. Sad reflections in the hall, notes and cards pinned to the wall, numbers that you'll never call. Mixed up memories, jumbled thoughts, so long the past, the present short. Suitcases full of secret times, love letters written in your prime. Broken biscuits, weekend sweets, Saturday tries and Sunday meets. Daddy's running up a tab, Mama's kicking up a stink, Johnny's left the nest for good and I'm on the drink again. So the family sorts out the estate, the mess that is left and the bills that can't wait. The house that we lived in is going to be sold but you'll never know it 'cause you're far too old to be told. I dreamt about an epitaph, so to the point I nearly laughed. Written on a stone it said, 'Here lies Somebody - dead'. I dreamed a dream where you had died. I held you close, you really cried. I woke up still hanging on to hope but really all the hope had gone. Slurry words and answer phones, social workers, nursing homes. Mama's gone to Heaven, Daddy's on the brink, Johnny's breathing in the smoke, Susie's not who you think. The gardener's going crazy, he thinks he's in the clink, neighbours keep on coming round and I'm on the drink again .

Big Man Don't start on me cause I haven't finished yet. If you want to pick a fight, I suggest it's time you left. I haven't got the punch line to go another round. Maybe you should split before we settle down. You can't change the things he's done, he can't change himself for anyone. What's a nice girl from Cirencester doing with a dull head that thinks he's Mister Universe? Regrets - there are quite a few - where to begin? Too many to mention - use your imagination. He thinks it's all sewn up - time to unpick a fight. Come on, you're sharp as needles - and he's just a little prick - all right I'll say what's on my mind but you might not want to speak to me for a time. What's a nice girl with brains and a body doing with a boy who shoots birds for a hobby? And does he have to act so middle class to live like the poor? (That's rich coming from you). Suspend your disbelief and abhorrence once more. Listen to all the lies he tells - he's going to hell and if you stick with him then you are as well. The story's supposed to go like this. You put your suit on in the morning - you put your mourning suit on. A black band on your arm to signify he's finally gone. A moment's quiet to reflect on what he said, a minute's silence to remember that he's dead. Then you walk straight back into my life, you will ask me if you can still be my wife. I'll have the last laugh and he can jest in peace, you will marry me and he won't even get an invitation. Well at least that's how I'd like it to be but it won't be unfortunately, because it seems a little prick is going to succeed 'cause you're his number one fan and I don't understand. It seems that size doesn't matter - especially if you're a big man.

Older Not Wiser Used to fast forward to the sex bits - fast forward now through the sex bits. With flagging good looks, reading larger print books, feeding titbits to the blue tits. Getting older not wiser. Still searching for the Marmalizer but no more trouble and strife, it's anything now for a quiet life. On a golf course in sensible attire - a small handicap and spare tyre. A life being droll, about par for the whole, nearly ready to retire. Getting older not wiser. Still searching for the Marmalizer but no more trouble and strife, it's anything now for a quiet life. Who will you love any more? A question too big to ignore. Who will still nag you, who will still shag you when you're sixty-four? Getting older not wiser. Still searching for the Marmalizer but no more trouble and strife, it's anything now for a quiet life.

Hippy Replacement My name is Chris but you can call me Chrishmale, I'm anti-capitalist but my love's still for sale. I'm not a new man, though I think I used to be, I've been suitably stoned, gentle and free. Anti-sexist but sexy, softly spoken yet strong, non-threatening and sensitive, I wear a sarong. I've become less material and try to buy less, I forage for food and shop in Totnes. I wear beads and bangles and check all sorts of signs, line up with the stars and travel ley lines. I'm H I P P Y, I'm H I P P Y, I know I am, I'm sure I am, I'm H I P P Y. I've got a TV but it's ever so small, there are nutrition posters all over my wall. I eat beans and pulses, Soya and tofu, and spend lots of time reading Zen on the loo. I'm a veggie at heart but still sometimes wear leather, dance naked to sun gods whatever the weather. I've got an allotment and I eat what I grow, recycle and compost, I reap what I sow. I'm H I P P Y, I'm H I P P Y, I know I am, I'm sure I am, I'm H I P P Y. I'm a pacifist and disagree with all wars, I fight for the right and I'll die for the cause. I lean to the left and believe in free choice, pro-lifers, free love and abortions of course. I'm homeowner phobic and think gays are all right and that racists see everything too black and white. I like demos and marches, striking and clashes, I've Free Nelson Mandela and CND badges. I'm H I P P Y, I'm H I P P Y, I know I am, I'm sure I am, I'm H I P P Y. I use public transport and often hitch hike, down in the cellar I've got an old bike. I'm anti road building and walk where I can, I've got Support Greenpeace on the side of my van. I'm anti fashion, how I look I don't care, I save water not washing and don't cut my hair. I like what I do and I do what I like, I'm a bit of a hippy stereotype. I'm H I P P Y, I'm H I P P Y, I know I am, I'm sure I am, I'm H I P P Y.

Right To Die Scheme He bought a house on the right to die scheme. Sits on his own in his home with his pie in the sky dreams. Wrestling with his conscience as a way of keeping fit. He's not as stupid as he looks but that's because he'll never look as stupid as he is. He got a loan on a credit hotline, free for three years with no deposit and no time. Only uses plastic now - coins and notes offend somehow, and keeping up appearances is more important to him than the way he lives. Oh what a bore - penniless and piss poor, paying for time in a victimless crime. And you can't help but see what an unhappy chappy he must be, to be so obsessive about such a trivial matter. Not a comfortable place to try and be, when spending a penny can cause all your hopes to splatter. Spends all his cash looking flash and well shod but with short arms and deep pockets well he's just a tight wad. Money doesn't grow on trees and he's got going Dutch elm disease. Expensive tastes that still look cheap, from the bargain basement to the penthouse suite. Oh it must be a bore to have such a rapport only to find no one cares what you say. And you can't help but see what a miserable person he must be to be so exclusive about such inclusive matters. Wishing he was dead - imaginary guns against his head, hair trigger fingers and too much internal chatter. What's the matter? What's the matter with him? You can't help but see he worries unnecessarily about going grey and getting old and getting fatter. It's as clear as it can be, you can't change reality and really does it matter? Does it matter? It doesn't matter.

C for Stupid Women are sensible and calculating, men are calculating but stupid. She just wants him to leave her alone but he still wants to play Cupid. He's calculating and cold, efficient and bold. It's guaranteed to do the trick. But oh if love weren't so thin on the ground and if only we weren't so thick. He's cocky and glib, she tries to forgive his behaviour leaves so much to be wanted. He wants her so much he forgets who he is and she feels nothing more than hunted. She's calculating and cold, efficient and bold. It's guaranteed to do the trick. But oh if love weren't so thin on the ground and if only men weren't so thick. Then we'd be swimming in rivers, bathing in oceans, floating in waters of love and seas of devotion. But they just can't let go and it forces their hands. They no longer want to be lovers. So they both turn the screw, say 'I used to love you' and then go off and sleep with another. It's calculating and cold, efficient and bold and guaranteed to do the trick. But oh if love weren't so thin on the ground and if only she weren't so thick. But you can't buy love and you can't just bluff, love, eternity and all that stuff. If only he hadn't got his head in the clouds and she wasn't airy limbic. If only love weren't so thin on the ground and if only men weren't so thick.

Blind Date I can't wait, I'm going on a blind date. I wonder what she'll see in me. I hope her eyes are how I visualise because I'm not sure what else I'm looking for. She called a 6am, the morning after I left a message on her answer machine. She had the sweetest voice. I thought she was assertive if not a little keen. I phoned her back and we made a pact to meet at 1pm and go for a snack and a drink. When I'd had time to think I nearly had a heart attack, then I sorted through my clothes to see if I had any clean I can't wait, I'm going on a blind date. I wonder what she'll see in me. I hope her eyes are how I visualise because I'm not sure what else I'm looking for. I left at 12 o'clock. Just in time to get a haircut, some new shoes and The Good Book on my way to the church. I arrived a little late but she said it was all right 'cause she's someone who always likes to get there first. We got some food, which we both under chewed. I broke a glass and she fell off her chair and laughed. I told her that I lived with my mum, she showed me pictures of her daughter and son in law. In my wildest fantasy we don't get on this easily. I can't wait, I'm going on a blind date. I wonder what she'll see in me. I hope her eyes are how I visualise because I'm not sure what else I'm looking for.

Lavender Girl There's a girl I know who works in the city, her days aren't so pretty but she is. She's the one, I know. I love the way she jabbers, I want to climb up the ladders in her stockings so. She always looks so happy, even when she's sad and her life is mean. Humming to herself while the lights turn red and the men in her life turn to green. I wonder if she knows, when she passes by, I've got my eye on her and love her so? I wonder where she goes? Up and down the street you can hear her sweetly sing when the wind blows. Her clothes are chosen by the way she feels and what she believes. She wears her dresses right, her colours bright and her heart on her sleeve. I-spy lavender girl. Pie in the sky lavender girl. Passing by lavender girl. Bye bye lavender girl. With a smile that glows, she lights up the room while her sweet perfume just lingers. I don't know if it shows but I go weak when she brushes her cheek with her fingers. Merry dances thrill me and while I twist she dips and twirls. Fleeting glances kill me but I can't stop with all the will in the world - Lavender girl. She's so lovely, I go to sleep and wish she were you. That's how it should be and what a surprise, I open my eyes and my wish has come true. Hi lavender girl. Sweet shy lavender girl. High fly lavender girl. To die for lavender girl. Happy guy lavender girl. I'm sky-high lavender girl. Do you know why lavender girl? 'Cause you're my lavender girl.

Petulant Child He was a petulant child, now he's a petulant father, sulks in the corner if it doesn't go his way. He always went to far, now he goes much farther, he could change but he'd rather stay that way. The winner on top, never on the bottom. If you cannot beat them you might as well join them. There's a pleasure to be had in things that go bad and something to enjoy in the process of annoying. And he's recently been toying with ideas above his station, pig headed with inflation he thinks he rules the world. Spinning like a top, nothing now can stop him. Keeping up to speed hitting the ground stumbling. And it's not for me to say. It's not for me to comment or have an opinion. It's not for me to say. But what're you gonna say what're gonna do when? What're you gonna say what're gonna do when nobody hears? And nights are getting shorter, teeth are getting longer, knees are getting weaker, the beer is getting stronger. Thinner on top, fatter on the bottom, wider round the side, the memories forgotten. And it's not for me to say. It's not for me to comment or have an opinion. It's not for me to say. But what're you gonna say what're gonna do when? What're you gonna say what're gonna do when nobody hears? I can't help but worry for you. I have done all along but I'd put money on you coming back strong. He was a petulant child, now he's a petulant father, sulks in the corner. And it's not for me to say. It's not for me to comment or have an opinion. It's not for me to say. But what're you gonna say what're gonna do when? But what're you gonna say what're gonna do when? What're you gonna say what're gonna do when nobody's here?

Micro Macro The devil's in the detail, obsession is the key. Label squint and read the small print, believe in what you see. Common sense and reason, like a clarion call becomes a hunter worrier, small people standing tall. Like Karl and Susan Kennedy rather than JFK. However you look, close in or above, micro macro's the way. Check the wider picture, view the land and sea. From a birds eye as the crows fly. Objectivity. Squaring the circle. Circling the square. A big fish in a small lake, lapping at the small shore. Like Karl and Susan Kennedy rather than JFK. However you look, close in or above, micro macro's the way. It's my party and I'll drink if I want to. I don't remember asking for your point of view. Old is the new new, so near and yet so far. So far's not yet far enough away,

Holy Malt Some things you can't command, explain or understand. Sometimes it's nobody's fault. There's a hook and there's a line. They catch you every time if they get too close to your heart. I don't want to but you make me anyway. Just a taste and I am gone. Holy malt - don't ever leave me. I can't go on if you don't need me. I want it straight not watered down. Holy malt - don't ever leave me. It takes a little while. You swim before you sink. You think you've got it under control. But no words explain the thrill of the storm that breaks the will - the calm that's waiting when you console. I didn't want it but you tempted me again and there's no stopping once you start. Holy malt - don't ever leave me. I can't go on if you won't feed me. I want it straight not watered down. Holy malt - don't ever leave me. You're my mistress, you're my dream, you're my Mother, you're my Queen. You're my safety, you're my home, you're my shelter from the storm. You're my angel of the night, you're the one I have to fight. You're the one that wants it all, you're my ending, my downfall. You're my poison, you're my knife, you're the reason for my life. You're the sorrows that I drown, you're the one I can't put down. Holy malt - don't ever leave me. I can't go on - stop pleading with me. I want it straight not watered down. Holy malt - don't ever leave me.

I Still Like You Don't like where we are. It's far too bourgeois. Don't like to see so far into the blue. Don't like astrology. Don't like musicology. Fortunately I still like you. Looking back over my shoulder, changing my point of view. Taking turns in all directions, I still look forward to seeing you. Don't like sunny days. Don't like silver haze. Don't like what this song says or who it's to. Don't like shining seas. Don't like the gentle breeze but I am pleased to say I still like you. Altering, faltering. Taking on a different hue. Substituting old for new. There's nothing I would change in you. Don't like anyone else. Don't even like myself but I still like you.

You Didn't! I found the needle in the haystack and I passed right through the eye of that needle. I found the four leafed clover - it had hens' teeth in the middle. I saw two magpies against the cloudless sky. Jumped over the moon with the pigs that fly. I'm one hell of a lucky guy. Not a dry eye in the house and I think - water everywhere but not a drop to drink. So I splash my face and join the human race - standing on the podium in first place. It's a competition and it's a game. I can't help it if I've won again. It's free to enter I'm not to blame. They say a change is as good as a rest - well I prefer the rest. What you've got is as good as it gets and when you put it like that it's a matter of fact. If imitation is the highest form of flattery and sarcasm is the lowest form of wit - then what of your sarcastic imitations and your imitations of being sarcastic? Observers, critics, commentators. Photo fits of imitators. Imageless impersonators. I've got my Nikon Nikon - got my Minolta. Gonna take your picture when I know I didn't oughta. Not voyeuristic, just observation. I'm snap happy, snap happy, gonna take the rap happy. Everybody's looking older, everybody's getting balder. Everybody's looking fatter, except for those getting thinner. Everybodys skin is looser, everybody's getting tighter. Everybody's getting heavy but me I'm getting lighter. I almost missed the boat (but you didn't), I nearly lost the race (but you didn't). I almost got uptight (but you didn't), I nearly lost my face (but you didn't). I nearly had an affair (but you didn't), I came close to saying goodbye (but you didnt). I tried to make you cry (but you didn't), I wanted to die (but you didn't).

Acid Casualty Coming down from adrenalin heights. I've been up and down all night. Calcium dinners, calcium teas. I'm an acid casualty. Bent over double with double amnesia. I can't remember which is easier - forgetting to eat or eating for three. I'm an acid casualty. Suppertime. A worrying time. A quick snack time. A Zantac time. My heart burns for you and will do forever. My stomach churns whenever you want to sit too close to me. I'm an acid casualty. Breakfast filler. A cereal killer. And the crux of it all - a reflux call. It's a bitter pill to digest. I have to swallow my pride and get it off my chest. I have the guts and gall to guarantee I'm an acid casualty.

She Never Asked She talked about her past - the things she'd seen. Her schemes and dreams. She never asked about me. She talked about her future - plans and perspectives, aims and objectives, She never asked about me. I talked about my mum and dad - what they'd done together. We even talked about the weather. She never asked about me. Inverted comas, punctuation. Overstated intonation. Unsubtle intimations. Still she never asked about me. We said words best left unspoken. We spoke of hidden meanings - how words are used to hide our feelings. She never asked about me. We went around the houses and beat about the bush. Sat on the fence and said how not to say too much. She never asked about me. We chattered till the cows came home - gossip, fiction, myth and fact. Spilled the beans and chewed the fat. She never asked about me. We talked the hind legs off the horse. Shared our thoughts on skilled discourse. Articulate - but still of course, she never asked about me. She said she didn't like my tone. She said she should've known. She put down the phone.



© Crazy Quilt Bouquet


back to top