Written by
Barry Tebb |
Dawn’s my Mr Right, already
Cocks have crowed, birds flown from nests,
The neon lights of Leeds last night still
Sovereign in my sights, limousines and
Pink baloons, tee shirts with green stencilled
Dates of wedding days to come, the worn dance floor,
Jingling arcades where chrome fendered fruit machines
Rest on plush carpets like the ghosts of fifties Chevies,
Dreams for sale on boulevards where forget-me-nots
Are flowing through the hyaline summer air.
I stood with you in Kings Cross on Thursday night
Waiting for a bus we saw the lighthouse on top
Of a triangle of empty shops and seedy bedsits,
Some relic of a nineteenth century’s eccentric’s dream come true.
But posing now the question "What to do with a listed building
And the Channel Tunnel coming through?" Its welded slats,
Timber frame and listing broken windows blew our minds-
Like discovering a Tintoretto in a gallery of fakes.
Leeds takes away the steely glare of Sutton
Weighing down on me like breeze-blocks by the ton,
When all I want to do is run away and make a home
In Keighley, catch a bus to Haworth and walk and walk
Till human talk is silenced by the sun.
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Written by
Badger Clark |
Desert blue and silver in the still moonshine,
Coyote yappin' lazy on the hill,
Sleepy winks of lightnin' down the far sky line,
Time for millin' cattle to be still.
_So--o now, the lightnin's far away,_
_The coyote's nothiny skeery;_
_He's singin' to his dearie--_
_Hee--ya, tammalalleday!_
_Settle down, you cattle, till the mornin'._
Nothin' out the hazy range that you folks need,
Nothin' we kin see to take your eye.
Yet we got to watch you or you'd all stampede,
Plungin' down some 'royo bank to die.
_So--o, now, for still the shadows stay;_
_The moon is slow and steady;_
_The sun comes when he's ready._
_Hee--ya, tammalalleday!_
_No use runnin' out to meet the mornin'._
Cows and men are foolish when the light grows dim,
Dreamin' of a land too far to see.
There, you dream, is wavin' grass and streams that brim
And it often seems the same to me.
_So--o, now, for dreams they never pay._
_The dust it keeps us blinkin',_
_We're seven miles from drinkin'._
_Hee--ya, tammalalleday!_
_But we got to stand it till the mornin'._
Mostly it's a moonlight world our trail winds through.
Kaint see much beyond our saddle horns.
Always far away is misty silver-blue;
Always underfoot it's rocks and thorns.
_So--o, now. It must be this away--_
_The lonesome owl a-callin',_
_The mournful coyote squallin'._
_Hee--ya, tammalalleday!_
_Mockin-birds don't sing until the mornin'._
Always seein' 'wayoff dreams of silver-blue,
Always feelin' thorns that slab and sting.
Yet stampedin' never made a dream come true,
So I ride around myself and sing.
_So--o, now, a man has got to stay,_
_A-likin' or a-hatin',_
_But workin' on and waitin'._
_Hee--ya, tammalalleday!_
_All of us are waitin' for the mornin'._
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