Don’t mistake my affectation for affection
There’s cyan in the cyanide
Even though I don’t believe
I can paint your soul
It’s easy with your pose
It’s easy with your pose
I skipped the error and the trial
Would you be a butterfly
Or wildlife caught in paint?
I can’t be your saint
But I am a flaneur
A walker on the city watch
I’m staggering and drowned
In the amber wash of scotch
Still, it’s a life
Still life is still life
Still life is not bare life
Rare life is fair life
Still life is … still life
I made myself a darling
Of the prominent and rich
While fidelity got blown out
Of the windows by the Blitz
Running out of paint
I left there just in time
They bombed the house out just beyond me
And the old street sign
They sent him off to Europe
They sent him off to draw
All the shattered landscapes
And the broken ships of yore
Foreign lands and towns
While I’m bunkered in the clubs
In the blacked out underground
Of the Hades of the gods
The Hades of the gods
We danced quiet to the end of times
When the engines cut to silence
And silence cut the rhymes
We hold on to the moment
And the rhythms of our songs
So we could stop and listen
Listen to the murmur of the bombs
Music and Lyrics by Jonathan Burt
Running time 6:26