Breakfast At Sweetheart’s

Campbell lane
Through the window, curtain rain
Long night gone, yellow day
Speed shivers melt away

Six o’clock I’m goin’ down
Coffee’s hot and the toast is brown
Hey streetsweeper, clear my way
Sweethearts breakfast is the best in town
Oh-oh, Breakfast at Sweethearts . . .

Hey, Anne-Maria
It’s always good to see her
She don’t smile or flirt
She just wears that mini-skirt
Drunks come in
Paper bag, Brandivino
Dreams fly away
As she pulls another cappucino

Six o’clock I’m goin’ down
Coffee’s hot and the toast is brown
Hey streetsweeper, clear my way
Sweethearts breakfast is the best in town
Oh-oh, Breakfast at Sweethearts . . .

Conversations

Kneeling at the hotel reception
Violin a-sobbing on his knee
Twenty bright rozellas on his shoulder
Coin from a wealthy Ceylonese
Hungry people hangin’ on the corner
Other people cruisin’ by in cars
Feeding on the fiction and the porno
Staring at the tattoos and the scars

Conversations, Conversations
Icy nights and almighty patience

Well some of us are driven to ambition
Some of us are trapped behind the wheel
Some of us will break away, and build a marble yesterday
And live for every moment we can steal

Conversations, Conversations
Shouting out across an empty station

Now it’s just another Tuesday morning
Billy’s wrapped up tight against the chill
The busker packs his birds beneath the awning
Billy’s got his eyes upon the till
He could get a ticket out of here from a local easy lawyer
The busker’s halfway home, Billy’s lounging round the foyer
Love so easily dies when there’s nothing left to conquer
One small break is all he needs, and life ain’t getting longer

Conversations, Conversations
Breakfast show to a sleepy nation

Dresden

The morning breeze is off and gone
The winding factory streets are clean
Old ladies put the kettle on
And all-night lechers pause and lean
On grey shop windows, everywhere
A deeper hum is in the air
Hotel room, drifter leaves no clues

He rides a freight-train out of town
And whistles at the icy rime
The cattle float like thistle-downs
And God is on the edge of time
Somewhere behind a siren wails
The freight-train soars above the rails
The traveller, he’s hard as nails
As the train sweeps down the line

The salmon Season’s here to stay
And etched into each shoulder-bone
The mark of Cain is on display
As stone above each measured stone
Old Dresden burns above the breeze
The traveller, he’s on his knees
He’s watching sledge-wings dip and play
So far above the holy throne
Dresden blues . . .

Goodbye (Astrid Goodbye)

Open up the door Astrid, cause I’m comin’ down the stairs
And I ain’t gonna listen to no more pissin’ around
I’ve had seven long years of give a little, take a little
Stack a little money away
And you better believe I’m gonna take this love to town

Turn on the tears Astrid, and don’t forget to let the neighbours see
What a low down deal you got when you married me
You can drown your days in valium and brandy
Talkin’ to the cat and the dog
And you can shove your cheap french vogue society

Goodbye, goodbye . . .
I won’t be comin’ back for long

Open up the door Astrid, and don’t try to stand in my way
I’m heading for a long long night to a better day
And don’t bother offering to drive me to the station
You’d only drive me round the bend
We’re comin’ to the end, there’s nothin’ left to say

I’m Gonna Roll Ya

No copulation, no revolution
Said the young Marquis de Sade
But all the whips in France ain’t gonna get me
Fuckin’ on a barracade
From the schoolboys on it was one big con
As we hung around the hockey teams
In each boys brain the dream was the same
All I ever went to do is get laid

Now the whole wide world has a better idea
And it shook us all to the core
You follow some two-year fairy tale
Into happy evermore
The sleepy priest at the bridal feast
His hands make a holy sign
And as the bride hoes into the wedding cake
She’s a-singin’ in the back of her mind

Come on, come on
I’m gonna roll ya all night long . . .

Well I took that crap for a little while
And it kept me off the street
Then I met me a lady with a shady past
And manners like a dog on heat
Those musos hummin’ when they see her comin’
Make a noise like a hurricane
When you see that line at the dressing-room door
You know she’s just spread ’em for the boys again

Well there ain’t nothin’ better than to rip your sweater
In a bang behind the stage
Or the drawn out sigh as you feel her thigh
Then you stop and estimate her age
If she’s turned fourteen she’s a rock’n’roll queen
You can give her anything you choose
And when she whispers Honey it’s the money or the box
You know money’s so easy to lose

Come on, come on
I’m gonna roll ya all night long . . .

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