(T-Bone Walker)

I said they call it Stormy Monday
But I said Tuesday's just as bad.
I said they call it Stormy Monday
Tuesday is just as bad.
Wednesday's full of sorrow,
I said that Thursday's oh-so, it's oh-so-sad. It's oh-so-sad.

I said lord, lord, why don't you have mercy,
You gotta have mercy on me.
So I'm trying to find my woman,
Won't you bring her home to me?
I said they call it stormy Monday.

Through long December nights we talk in words of rain or snow,
while you, through chattering teeth, reply and curse us as you go.
Why not spare a thought this day for those who have no flame
to warm their bones at Christmas time?
Say Jack Frost and the Hooded Crow.

Now as the last broad oak leaf falls, we beg: consider this:
there's some who have no coin to save for turkey, wine or gifts.
No children's laughter round the fire, no family left to know.
So lend a warm and a helping hand:
say Jack Frost and the Hooded Crow.
As holly pricks and ivy clings, your fate is none too clear.
The Lord may find you wanting, let your good fortune disappear.
All homely comforts blown away and all that's left to show
is to share your joy at Christmas time
with Jack Frost and the Hooded Crow.

Through long December nights we talk in words of rain or snow,
while you, through chattering teeth, reply and curse us as you go.
Why not spare a thought this day for those who have no flame
to warm their bones at Christmas time?
Say Jack Frost and the Hooded Crow.

Blew my smoke on a sunny day,
when the first black powder came my way.
Hot lead ball from a muzzle cold
to win fair lady and take your gold.
I know it hardly seems the time (I am your gun)
to talk of blue steel so sublime. (I am your gun)
I can understand your point of view. (I am your gun)
To tell the truth I'd scare me too.

Match, wheel and flintlock, they all caught your eye.
Pearl-handled ladies' models, scaled down to size.
I am the peacemaker, so the theory goes.
But I don't choose the company I keep and it shows.

I am your gun.
Love me, I'm your gun.

Maxim and Browning, they helped me along.
Stoner, Kalashnikov thrilled to my song.
Now one of me exists, for each one of you,
So how can you blame me for the things that I do?

Now I take second place to the motor car(I am your gun)
in the score of killing kept thus far. (I am your gun)
And just remember, if you don't mind (I am your gun)
it's not the gun that kills but the man behind.
I am your gun.
I am your gun.
I am your gun.
I am your gun.

I am your neighbor. I seem most respectable,
But underneath I'm an iniquitous toad.
So many dreadful mishaps have befallen you
down at the end of your road.
And I live down the end of your road.

I'm working on ways to remove you from paradise,
from your striped lawn and your new swimming pool.
I place broken bottles in your geraniums
sabotage your gardening tools.

And I live down the end of your road.
By day I am a real estate gentleman.
I deal in fine properties cheap at the price.
After dark, I plan my most devious practices
which you might think are not very nice.

Designing a system to reverse your plumbing
welling up, as you sit on your private throne.
Will come up all kinds of vile and despicable nasties
you would rather not have in your home.
And I live down the end of your road.

Dispensed loathsome creatures in your drawing room,
Sent doggy poo-poos in your morning mail.
Rat's heads and lark's wings should set your tums turning
and your houses will soon be for sale.
And I live down the end of your road.
Yes, I live down the end of your road.
Well, I live down the end of your road.
I live down the end of your road.
I live down the end of your road.
I live down the end of your road.

(Words and music by David Palmer)

Grey the mist cold the dawn;
cruel the sea and stern the shore.
Brave the man who sets his course
For Albion.

Sweet the rose sharp the thorn;
meek the soil and proud the corn.
Blessed the lamb that would be born
within this green and pleasant land.
Hi-O-Ran-I-Ro
Hi-O-Ran-I-Ro

Brown furrow shine
beneath the rain washed blue.
Bright crystal streams
from eagle mountains born.
Fortune has smiled on those who wake anew,
within this fortress nature built
to stay the hand of war.

With the wind from the east
came the first of those to tread
upon this stone, this stone of kings;
this realm, this new Jerusalem.
Hi-O-Ran-I-Ro
Hi-O-Ran-I-Ro
Hi-O-Ran-I-Ro
Hi-O-Ran-I-Ro

I once met a girl with the life in her hands
and we lay together on the summerday sands.
I gave her my raincoat and told her, "Lady, be good!''
And we made truth together, where no one else would.
I smiled through her fingers and ran the dust through her hands,
the hour-glass of reason on the summerday sands.

We sat as the sea caught fire.
Waited as the flames grew higher in her eyes,
in her eyes.
We watched the eagle born
wings clipped, tail feathers shorn, but we saw him rise,
we saw him rise over summerday sands.

Came the ten o'clock curfew.
She said, "I must start my car.
I'm staying with someone I met last night in a bar.''
I called from my wave top:"At least tell me your name!''
She smiled from her wheelspin and said, "It's all the same.''
I thought for a minute, jumped back on dry land
left one set of footprints on the summerday sands.
I once met a girl with the life in her hands
and we lied together on the summerday sands.

Too many drivers in too many cars.
Too many lost souls drinking in too many bars.
Too many heroes stepping on too many toes.
Too many yes-men nodding when they really mean no.
Too many lives each cat can lose,
we've got too many too.
Too many too.

Too much sunshine. Too many drops of rain.
Too many equal and average children who will all grow up the same.
Too many fireside politicians holding too many views.
Too many questions but there are answers too few.
Too many lives each cat can lose,
we've got too many too.

If I were a liar yes, and you were a cheat,
there would be too many places where we all could meet.
Too many temples where we could worship the beast.
Where he who thinks he had the most in fact has the least.
Too many lives each cat can lose,
I've got too many too.
I've got too many too.
I've got too many too.
I've got too many too.

What would you like for Christmas:
a new polarity?
You're binary, and desperate to deal in high figures
that lick us with their hotter flame
lick each and everyone the same.
And March, the mad scientist,
brings a new change
in ever-dancing colours.

He rings it here and he rings it,
but no one stops to see
the change of fate and the fate of change
that slips into his pocket
so he locks it all away from view
and shares not what he thought you knew.
And April is summer-bound,
And February's blue.
And no one stops to see the colours.

Fish and chips, sandpaper lips and a rainy pavement.
Soho lights, another night thinking of you.
Black cat, sat on a wall, winks at me darkly.
Suggesting ways and means that I might win a smile,
as you leave the place where you work until 12.30
and the policemen nods as you pass along his beat.
Sweaty feet, troubled brow we're all in the same game, lady.
Life's no bowl of cherries it's a black and white strip cartoon.

I've been warned that you and your friends are crazy
as from your hearts you bare your parts to the gentlemen,
who, while they drool, trying to keep cool,
spill their Scotch and water.
But I'm not that way, I must say I'd much prefer to see
you in your texturised rubber rainwear around 12.30.
Come and play shades of grey in my black and white strip cartoon.

Strip cartoon is all I'm after.
Strip cartoon is all I crave,
so come to my place around 12.30
'cause I'm a leading politician
at a dangerous age.

Strip cartoon is all I'm after.
Strip cartoon is all I crave,
so come to my place around 12.30
'cause I'm a leading politician
at a dangerous age.

Strip cartoon, strip cartoon is all I'm after.
Strip cartoon is all I crave,
so come to my place around 12.30
'cause I'm a leading politician
at a dangerous age.

I work in dark factories, a cog in the big wheel,
driving grey satanic mills and weaving sad stories.
And faceless masters oh, they pay me plenty
crumbs from their luncheon packs, harsh wine from bottles halk empty.
A stitch in time saves nine.
Said Cock Robin from the wall.
It's an early bird catches the worm.
Show a little pride before you fall.
So I flew to the south sun with birds of a feather
to drink in the warm nights and tell of fine weather.

A stitch in time saves nine.
Said Cock Robin from the wall.
It's an early bird catches the worm.
Show a little pride before you fall.

Listen all you young folk your lives on a timetable,
clocking on twenty-one fly while you're able.
A stitch in time saves nine.
Said Cock Robin from the wall.
It's an early bird catches the worm.
Show a little pride before you fall.

A stitch in time saves nine.
Said Cock Robin from the wall.
It's an early bird catches the worm.
Show a little pride before you fall.

I remember when
we had a lot of things to do,
impressed by all the words we read
and the heroes that we knew.
Climb on your your dream,
a dream of our own making
to find a place that we could later lose
to whatever time would bring.

We were seventeen
and the cakeman was affecting you,
moving you to greater things
(in a lesser way) you had to prove.
The clock struck summertime.
You were going round in circles now.
Wishing you were seventeen.
At twenty-one, it was a long time gone.

And now here you are.
You're locked in your own excuse.
The circle's getting smaller every day.
You're busy planning your next fifty years.
So stay the way you are
and keep your head down to the same old ground.
Just paint your picture boy until you find
a closed circle's better than an open line.

Yes stay the way you are.
I got a circle that's the same as yours.
It may be bigger, but I've more to lose.
Who is the luckier man me or you?

Flying made of sticks and paper:
aeroplane.
Dying is the wind but climbing,
my aeroplane.
Blowing, and going somewhere high
in the evening tumbling down,
but it's surely been up there.

Crying want to live my life as
my aeroplane
Sighing in the sun's eye, but softly:
my aeroplane.
Lonely, but only till it comes down,
well there's people running round.
But it's surely been up there.

Flying my aeroplane.
my aeroplane
my aeroplane
my aeroplane

Woke up this morning to look at things in their funny way.
Why can't they be like they used to be only yesterday.
Ooh, bring back my sunshine day.
I look at things that once were mine with such despair.
Why do the things I say only fall on empty air?
Ooh, bring back my sunshine day.
My mind cries: Bring back my sunshine day.

I say the things I used to say, but they don't seem right.
Why does this world seem like the darkest endless night?
Ooh, bring back my sunshine day.
Bring back my sunshine day.