01. Crying Lightning

Outside the café by the cracker factory you were practisin’ a magic trick.
And my thoughts got rude as you talked and chewed on the last of your pick and mix.
You said “You’re mistaken if you’re thinking that I haven’t been called ‘cold’ before”
as you bit into your strawberry lace.
Then offered me your attention in the form of a gobstopper
it’s all you had left and it was going to waste.

Your pastimes consisted of the strange, the twisted and deranged
and I love that little game you had called ‘Crying Lightning’
and how you liked to aggravate the ice cream man on rainy afternoons

The next time that I caught my own reflection it was on its way to meet you,
thinking of excuses to postpone.
You never look like yourself from the side but your profile could not hide
the fact you knew I was approaching your throne.
With folded arms you occupy the bench like toothache,
stood and puffed your chest out like you’d never lost a war.
Although I tried so not to suffer the indignity of a reaction
there was no cracks to grasp or gaps to claw.

And your pastimes consisted of the strange, the twisted and deranged
and I hate that little game you had called ‘Crying Lightning’
and how you liked to aggravate the ice cream man on rainy afternoons.
Uninviting, but not half as impossible as everyone assumes you are.

02. I Haven’t Got My Strange

When I got back from fixing my hair, you were directing traffic
Letting your story slip on the snow as if the transmission was automatic
It’s arguable that I shouldn’t have been there
It was fortunate timing
I had a hole in the pocket of my favourite coat and my love dropped into the lining
(Have you got your strange?)
Not on me. I haven’t got my strange
(Have you got your strange?)
Not on me
You can’t sleep until you’ve sat on the steps to weep until you feel like you’ve wept yeah
(As long as you don’t forget your strange)
(Have you got your strange?)
No, not on me. I haven’t got my strange
I’ve better fetch my strange
I haven’t got my strange

03. Red Right Hand

Take a litle walk to the edge of town
Go across the tracks
Where the viaduct looms
Like a bird of doom
As it shifts and cracks
Where secrets lie in the border fires
In the humming wires
Hey man, you know
You’re never coming back
Past the square, past the bridge
Past the mills, past the stacks
On a gathering storm comes
A tall handsome man
In a dusty black coat with
A red right hand

He’ll wrap you in his arms
Tell you that you’ve been a good boy
He’ll rekindle all the dreams
It took you a lifetime to destroy
He’ll reach deep into the hole
Heal your shrinking soul
Hey buddy, you know you’re
Never ever coming back
He’s a god, he’s a man
He’s a ghost, he’s a guru
They’re whispering his name
Through this disappearing land
But hidden in his coat
Is a red right hand

You ain’t got no money?
He’ll get you some
You ain’t got no car? He’ll get you one
You ain’t got no self-respect
You feel like an insect
Well don’t you worry buddy
‘Cause here he comes
Through the ghettos and the barrio
And the bowery and the slum
A shadow is cast wherever he stands
Stacks of green paper in his
Red right hand

You’ll see him in your nightmares
You’ll see him in your dreams
He’ll appear out of nowhere but
He ain’t what he seems
You’ll see him in your head
On the TV screen
And hey buddy, I’m warning
You to turn it off
He’s a ghost, he’s a god
He’s a man, he’s a guru
You’re one microscopic cog
In his catastrophic plan
Designed and directed by
His red right hand