Fly Boy Blue / Lunette

It's a lethal ballet

Air traffic congestion

I'm having a baby

Second thoughts

Scotch, dinner, and someone's dancing on the box

A former MP, and no one was watching

My oldest friends are a serious habit

Fly boy blue, so bring your faces home

To my sweet trampoline

And acres of crash site love

Someone's dancing on the box

A former MP, and no one was watching

My oldest friends are a serious habit

Fly boy blue, so bring your faces home

To my sweet trampoline

And acres of crash site love

Presidential delays

Suppose I'm just lucky

I'm having a shindig

Me, Red Bob, and the Ivory Host

And someone's shouting on the box

A chinless prefect gone Godzilla

My newest friends have forgotten my name

But so have I, so far so good and home

You and me, trampoline

And oceans of crash site love

What can be said of the cigarettes smoked

A prop for a joke or a mark on the clock

If I stopped, would the bus ever come?

Would the dawn ever kiss me, forgiven me

Knowing what's done

Would the drivel make scribble make sense

And then some

With the Woodbines denied like a northern man's thumbs

Perverse as it may sound, I sometimes believe

The tip to my lips just reminds me to breathe

What can be said of the whiskey and wine

Random abandon or ballast for joy

That was scuppered with trust

Little more than a boy, and besides I'm in excellent company

I'm reaching the age when decisions are made on life

And living, and I'm sure last ditch that I'll ask for more time

But mother, forgive me

I'll still want a bottle of good Irish whiskey

And a bundle of smokes in my grave

But there isn't words yet

For the comfort I get

From the gentle lunette

At the top of the nape of the neck that I wake to

And where are the words for the leap in my chest

When mischief appears either side of the scar on your nose

Made by a rose thorn

So you claim

By a rose thorn