Collection

I think she was a middle-distance runner...
(the translation wasn't clear).
Could be a budding stately hero.
International competition in a year.
She was a good enough reason for a party...
(well, you couldn't keep up on a hard track mile)
While she ran a perfect circle.
And she wore a perfect smile
In budapest... hot night in budapest.

We had to cozzy up in the old gymnasium...
Dusting off the mandolins and checking on the gear.
She was helping out at the back-stage...
Stopping hearts and chilling beer.
Yes, and her legs went on for ever.
Like staring up at infinity
Through a wisp of cotton panty
Along a skin of satin sea.
Hot night in budapest.

You could cut the heat, peel it back with the wrong side of a knife.
Feel it blowing from the sidefills. feel like you were playing for your life
(if not the money).
Hot night in budapest.

She bent down to fill the ice box
And stuffed some more warm white wine in
Like some weird unearthly vision
Wearing only t-shirt, pants and skin.
You know, it rippled, just a hint of muscle.
But the boys and me were heading west
So we left her to the late crew
And a hot night in budapest.
It was a hot night in budapest.

She didn't speak much english language...
(she didn't speak much anyway).
She wouldn't make love, but she could make good sandwich
And she poured sweet wine before we played.

Hey, budapest, cha, cha, cha. let's watch her now.

I thought i saw her at the late night restaurant.
She would have sent blue shivers down the wall.
But she didn't grace our table.
In fact, she wasn't there at all.
Yes, and her legs went on forever.
Like staring up at infinity.
Her heart was spinning to the west-lands
And she didn't care to be
That night in budapest.
Hot night in budapest.

Cut along the dotted line --- slip in and seal the flap.
Postal competition crazy, though you wear the dunce's cap. w
In a fortnight in ibiza --- line up for the big hand out.
You'll never know unless you try --- what winning's all about --- be a quizz kid.
Be a whizz kid.
Six days later there's a rush telegram drop everything and telephone this number if you can.
It's a free trip down to london for a weekend of high life.
They'll wine you; dine you; undermine you --- better not bring the wife --- be a quizz kid.
Be a whizz kid.

It's a try out for a quizz show that millions watch each week.
Following the fate and fortunes of contestants as they speak.
Answerable to everyone; responsible to all; publicity dissected ---
Brain cells splattered on the walls of encyclopaedic knowledge.
May be barbaric but it's fun. as the clock ticks away a lifetime,
Hold your head up to the gun of a million cathode ray tubes aimed at your tiny skull.
May you find sweet inspiration --- may your memory not be dull. may you rise to dizzy success.
May your wit be quick and strong. may you constantly amaze us.
May your answers not be wrong. may your head be on your shoulders.
May your tongue be in your cheek. and most of all we pray that you may come back next week!
Be a quizz kid.
Be a whizz kid

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.

When i was young and they packed me off to school
And taught me how not to play the game,
I didn't mind if they groomed me for success,
Or if they said that i was a fool.
So i left there in the morning
With their god tucked underneath my arm --
Their half-assed smiles and the book of rules.
So i asked this god a question
And by way of firm reply,
He said -- i'm not the kind you have to wind up on sundays.
So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares):
Before i'm through i'd like to say my prayers --
I don't believe you:
You had the whole damn thing all wrong --
He's not the kind you have to wind up on sundays.
Well you can excomunicate me on my way to sunday school
And have all the bishops harmonize these lines --
How do you dare tell me that i'm my father's son
When that was just an accident of birth.
I'd rather look around me -- compose a better song
`cos that's the honest measure of my worth.
In your pomp and all your glory you're a poorer man than me,
As you lick the boots of death born out of fear.
I don't believe you:
You had the whole damn thing all wrong --
He's not the kind you have to wind up on sundays.

Rare and precious chain --
Do i have to tell you, tell you once again?
Under red lights, on soft nights, it all comes back to you.
Rare and precious chain --
Binds me to your soul round gently pulsing veins.
Shackled tight, feel love's bite coming back to you.

No gold of fools.
No hostage taking.
No engagement rules.
To leave you forsaken.

Tiny beads of sweat --
Thin diamond glistening, glistening around your neck,
Forgotten rooms, dark catacombs
They all come back to you.

No crock of glittering prizes.
No sharply worded telegram.
No excuses for the word-weary.
No excuses for who i am.

It's a rare and precious chain.
Around your neck i place it, place it once again.
Drawn finger tight, feel love's bite coming back to you.
Under red lights, on soft nights, it all comes back to you.
Rare and precious chain.

In the shuffling madess
Of the locomotive breath,
Runs the all-time loser,
Headlong to his death.
He feels the piston scraping --
Steam breaking on his brow --
Old charlie stole the handle and
The train won't stop going --
No way to slow down.
He sees his children jumping off
At the stations -- one by one.
His woman and his best friend --
In bed and having fun.
He's crawling down the corridor
On his hands and knees --
Old charlie stole the handle and
The train won't stop going --
No way to slow down.
He hears the silence howling --
Catches angels as they fall.
And the all-time winner
Has got him by the balls.
He picks up gideons bible --
Open at page one --
Old charlie stole the handle and
The train won't stop going --
No way to slow down.