Альбом Robert Wyatt

Orange,
the fierce orange of the egg-shaped fireball
plopping into the ocean
as the earth tips backwards towards night.

Orange,
the scratched orange of the gas bottles
delivered for lack of pipeline,
dragged to the door by the man in a wig.

Orange,
the soft orange of two full moons –
one high, one low in a puddle mirror
floating in a pothole of the unmade road.

We could hear it
before the shutters were open,
the wind on the beach.

Then we found miniature sand dunes
on the concrete of the balcony
and a dead leaf zig-zagging,
scratching an urgent message in Sanskrit
before hitching a ride on a frisky gust.
A plastic bag caught by a rail
rearing to go, in such a flap
we set it free
to join a page of last week's news
racing high above the undulating beach,
and the invisible flying sand
casting a fast moving shadow
stroking the beach clean.
Yesterday's footprints vanished,
replaced by smooth rippling wave formations,
a copy of the sea.
No one walking,
not even the dogs.

A day for the rubbish to dance.

A white house with a folly –
a tower attached.
On the side
a hand painted saint
(lovingly painted)
peeps over a high wall
which surrounds the white house.
His loving gaze
is interrupted
by a line of broken glass
cemented
on top of the high wall.
The saint
lovingly dares
the outsider,
or the stray cat,
to intrude
and receive his loving blessing
in lovingly lacerated hands.

Two nuns on the sea shore
stand apart from one another –
black wood posts
mesmerised by the sea god.

Mesmerised by the sea god.

One nun with human failings
and weary legs
sinks to the sand
and sits like a child,
sinks to the sand
and sits like a child.

A golden stripe appears
on the western horizon –
a golden stripe appears:
a signal from the sea god
that he understands tiredness.

One staunch sister
stays standing.
One staunch sister
stays standing
and the sun sets.

And the sun
sets.

It takes a weekly packet
To keep the shrink in pocket
It costs a pretty penny
Just to stay afloat

It takes a lot of lolly
Trying to be jolly
When the interest keeps mounting
In the bank and in my person
It takes a bit of doing
Just feeling up to scratch

Work work work
From dawn to dusk
My id is raw
My ego breaking
From months of toil
To separate my real self
From its husk

Everybody loves me
Everyone but me
It's costing cash to melt the ice
I've sweated blood to hear I'm nice
To hear I'm nice

It takes a weekly packet
To keep the shrink in pocket
It costs a pretty penny
Just to stay afloat

It takes a lot of lolly
Trying to be jolly
When the interest keeps mounting
In the bank and in my person
And it takes a bit of doing
Just feeling up to scratch

Work work work
And it's work work work
It's work work work
From dawn to dusk
My id is raw
My ego breaking
From months of toil
To separate my real self
From its husk
From its husk

It takes a bit of doing
Just feeling up to scratch
Work work work
From dawn to dusk
It's work work work
Work work work
Work work work...

Picture the scene.
"Hello, how are you?"
"Well I'm a green and yellow pinky blue."
Dead alternative.

"Oh then, please step right into our nursery.
Just pick a group that you can relate to,
now the grown-ups have gone."

After the party's over, my friend,
there will be nothing you can put your finger on.
Just a parasol.

Simplify
Reduce
Over-simplify
Simplify
Reduce
Over-simplify

What we call freedom in the North
means our freedom to use you
and if you don't co-operate
we'll cut off your supply lines.
But you'll be free to re-connect
if you beg our forgiveness.
You say I over-simplify.
Well yes, so did Albert Einstein.

Simplify
Reduce
Over-simplify
Simplify
Reduce
Over-simplify

There simply is no middle ground –
Pentagon über alles.
There never was a middle ground,
that's the point I was making.
There's no such place as middle ground
Left or Right of the equator.

Simplify
Reduce
Over-simplify
Simplify
Reduce
Over-simplify

Trouble isn't my middle name,
left in peace would make my day.
You started the fire, not me,
camouflaged in mystery.

Plundering, murdering,
raiding coast to coast -
good old days of gore,
and now you tell me
I should learn to deal with you all,
bow to you and praise the Lords
for everything, everything
you won for us.
After all that was before,
there weren't no Amnesty International,
nobody to check you.
Don't give me that "polis",
that "rule of law".

Privatise next
the air force, then
the police force,
Royal Family,
let them be
private at last.
Set them free,
let them go home.
Save a bomb on union flags.

Privatise the sea.
Privatise the wind.
Don't just tinker
with unseeded cloud,
you got to sell
weather itself.
Set it free.
Don't waste good air,
breathing isn't paying its way.

Palestine's a country
or at least used to be.
Palestine's a country
or at least used to be.
Felahin, refugee
(Kurdistan similarly)
need something to build on
rather like the rest of us.

Palestine's a country
or at least used to be.
Palestine's a country
or at least used to be.
Felahin, refugee
(deportees similarly)
need something to build on
rather like the rest of us

Palestine's a country
or at least used to be.
Palestine's a country
or at least used to be.
Felahin, refugee
(Kurdistan similarly)
need something to build on
rather like the rest of us.

Palestine's a country
or at least used to be.
Palestine's a country
or at least used to be.
Felahin, refugee
(deportees similarly)
need something to build on
rather like the rest of us
got.

(repeat)