Broadsword And The Beast

From early days of infancy, through trembling years
Of youth, long murky middle-age and final hours
Long in the tooth, he is the hundred names of terror ---
Creature you love the least. picture his name before
You and exorcise the beast.

He roved up and down through history --- spectre
With tales to tell. in the darkness when the
Campfire's dead --- to each his private hell. if you look
Behind your shoulder as you feel his eyes to feast, you
Can witness now the everchanging nature of the beast.

Beastie

If you wear a warmer sporran, you can keep the foe at
Bay. you can pop those pills and visit some
Psychiatrist who'll say --- there's nothing i can do
For you, everywhere's a danger zone. i'd love to help
Get rid of it, but i've got one of my own.

There's a beast upon my shoulder and a fiend upon
My back. feel his burning breath a heaving, smoke
Oozing from his stack. and he moves beneath the
Covers or he lies below the bed. he's the beast upon
Your shoulder. he's the price upon your head. he's
The lonely fear of dying, and for some, of living too.
He's your private nightmare pricking. he'd just love
To turn the screw. so stand as one defiant --- yes, and
Let your voices swell. stare that beastie in the face
And really give him hell.

In the half-tone light of a young morning
She sighs and shifts on the pillow.
And across her face dancing, the first shadows fly
To kiss the pussy willow.

In her fairy-tale world she's a lost soul singing
In a sad voice nobody hears.
She waits in her castle of make-believing
For her white knight to appear.

Pusy willow --- down fur-lined avenue
Brushing the sleep from her young woman eyes.
Runs for the train --- see, eight o'clock's coming
Cutting dreams down to size again.

Pussy willow --- down fur-lined avenue
Brushing the sleep from her young woman eyes.
Runs from the train. hear her typewriter humming
Cutting dreams down to size again.

She longs for the east and a pale dress flowing
An apartment in old mayfair.
Or to fish the spey, spinning the first run of spring
Or to die for a cause somewhere.

Pussy willow --- down fur-lined avenue
Brushing the sleep from her young woman eyes.
Runs from the train. hear her typewriter humming
Cutting dreams down to size again.

I see a dark sail on the horizon set under a black
Cloud that hides the sun.

Bring me my broadsword and clear understanding.
Bring me my cross of gold as a talisman.
Get up to the roundhouse on the cliff-top standing.
Take women and children and bed them down.

Bring me my broadsword and clear understanding.
Bring me my cross of gold as a talisman.
Bless with a hard heart those who surround me.
Bless the women and children who firm our hands.
Put our backs to the north wind. hold fast by the river.
Sweet memories to drive us on for the motherland.

Shout if you will, but that just won't do.
I, for one, would rather follow softer options.
I'll take the easy line; another sip of wine,
And if i ignore the face you wore it's just a way of
Mine to keep from flying colours.

Don't lay your bait while the whole world waits
Around to see me shoot you down --- it's all so second-rate.
When we can last for days on a loving night;
Or for hours at least on a warm whisper given.
You always pick the best time to rise to the fight.
To break the hard bargain that we've driven.
Once again we're flying colours.

I thought we had it out the night before,
And settled old scores, but not the hard way.
Was it a glass too much? or a smile too few?
Did our friends all catch the needle match --- did we
Want them to?
In a fancy restaurant we were all aglow
Keeping cool by mutual permission.
How did the conversation get to where we came to blows?
We were set up in a red condition
And again we're flying colours.

Shout --- but you see it still won't do.
With my colours on i can be just as bad as you.
Have i had a glass too much? did i give a smile too few?
Did our friends all catch the needle match --- did we
Want them to?
We act our parts so well, like we wrote the play.
All so predictable and we know it.

We'll settle old scores now, and settle the hard way.
You may not even live to outgrow it!
Once again we're flying colours.

I sit by the cutting on the beaconsfield line.
He's watching me watching the trains go by.
And they move so fast --- boy, they really fly.
He's still watching me watching you watching the
Trains go by.

And the way he stares --- feel like locking my door
And pulling my phone from the wall.
His eyes, like lights from a laser, burn
Making my hair stand --- making the goose-bumps crawl.

He's watching me watching you watching him
Watching me
I'm watching you watching him watching me
Watching stares.

At the cocktail party with a bucks fizz in my hand
I feel him watching me watching the girls go by.
And they move so smooth without even trying.
He's still watching me watching you watching the
Trains go by.

And the crowd thins and he moves up close but he doesn't speak.
I have to look the other way.
But curiosity gets the better part of me and i peek:
Got two drinks in his hand --- see his lips move ---
What the hell's he trying to say.

He's watching me watching you watching him
Watching me.
I'm watching you watching him watching me
Watching stares.
He's watching me watching you watching him
Watching me.
He's watching me watching you watching
The trains go by.
He's watching me watching you watching him
Watching me.
He's watching me watching you watching him watching me.
He's watching me watching you watching him watching me watching him watching.