Текст песни
"Read all about it! Read all about it!"
"Biscuit rations to increase by decree of the Masters!"
"Missing baby found in spider's we— oh"
"Well, hello there, friend"
"That shiny badge tells me you're here with the Ministry of Accounting and Recounting"
"Taking the census?"
"Oh, well, you've picked a spot, alright"
"There's no shortage of colourful characters here in the Neath"
"And they all pass through here at The Singing Mandrake"
"Let old Harry Teller show you about"
"There's a fellow up top by the name of Robert Rackett"
"But, these days, everyone calls him Honest Bob"
"He can talk for England"
"I should say you pay him a visit"
Nice to meet you, guv'nor, what you want to know?
Trying to keep a track of numbers now we're dumped here down below? Oh!
Fine, come take a look, you'll see, I'm an open book to read
Something took the city, then this city really took to me
I'm not a crook or thief, I just do what I got to do
Bloke's still got to eat, beef is more than a bob or two
In a ditch and out the picture, London's withering in walls which are
Far too steep a pitch to climb, but steep just makes the tealeaf richer
See it, did you? Oh, it takes me back
Day like any other that became the Day of Wrath
As the monuments were toppled and the cobbles writhed and jostled
And the skies above were gobbled by a raging plague of bats
Stuck down in the Neath, drowning in disease
Air sticks to your teeth, it's thick and viscous with the whispers in the breeze
Tried to earn an honest bob, but a Bob is just a Robert
And a Robert's just a robber to a tee (Robert's just a robber to a tee)
Wasn't much, but used to run a comfy shop
One half fell down the hole, the till's still sitting up the top
Now the Masters are in charge, it's rather dark the things they've barred
But every market turns to black as soon as all the lights are off
Portobello sort of fellow shifting stock down Shaftesbury Avenue
Most coppers came a cropper, so they stopped the 'let's be having you'
Random that they've banned them, but I have accrued a map or two
And since they took the signs, the maps ain't half collecting value
Counting off the days to die, it's a solitary life
Can't help but thinking I should cop myself a wife
An Eliza, Nellie, Nancy, here to hold me tight at night
Well, a lady's tastes is fancy, but still, coal is twice the price
Oh, wouldn't it be lovely to find a counterpart?
'Cause I'd do anything to put love's fire in the hearth
I can cook and I can clean, but, Neath be damned, a man can dream
Sell my soul, but I won't ever fence my heart
Nothing left but crumbs down here in London
Do what must be done to make ends meet
Run-in with the blunt end of a truncheon
Closest thing I've had to love in weeks
Doesn't mean a thing whose heights were wuthering
Dumped down in the guttering, nouveau-riche
Who you was before London went tumbling
Doesn't matter squat to who you'll be
Now, this here is one Miss Cassie Haversham
Life of the party and pulls a darned sign more than pints
Anybody who didn't lose everything still lost something during the fall
But I should say they might have found a good deal more than they left behind
Go and have a chat
Way up on the surface, chap by name of Clyde
Clerking for a firm of vermin purely to provide
For a wife who never liked him, every day was made to hide
The other person, soft, but certain, that resided deep inside
Some may cast an eye, but, darling, why should I?
Be the prim and proper office boy for every passer-by?
I give us a year, maybe two, if we're lucky, then a few
But the former me embraced the chance to die
Clyde can take a backseat, Cassie's turn to drive
Who can say on any day who gets the reins? Enjoy the ride
When it comes to who I am, I wear the trousers, or I don't
Oh, darling, won't you see that London's at its best de-gentrified?
I gave love a go, nothing short of woe
What's the sense repeating empty feelings stuck below?
The high and mighty in the sky might find me
Wildly improprietous, but, in a hole, well, how're they gonna know?
Done with companionship, hassle it brings
Don't need the baggage that's strapped to a ring
I'll take the packages, lay off the strings
'Cause when they aren't attached, it's my favourite thing
There are devils in the streets, what's an extra in the sheets?
Either way, you'll be beneath, so take a fling, woo! (Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha)
There's a sorry-looking pantry and the kitchen's on the brink
And I'm worried that they'll catch the taste of river in the drinks
Not a sausage from Her Maj, it's like the riddle of the Sphinx
Why she's holed up in her palace as her kingdom ever sinks?
Hard to pay the rent at all when plagued by the nonsensical
It's daily an acquaintance 'twixt the strange and the unmentionables (oh)
Who can blame a dame in situations unconventional?
A basement full of tentacles, but waiting on a gent to call
Or a lady friend or several to get me through the nights
To place me on a pedestal and set to seeing me right
It pays to be quite flexible, and, truly, who am I?
To cater to convention and eschew these new delights?
If you came for documenting, tick whatever box you like
You've got Pages full of questions, but I left my lot behind
They're praying for ascension, but this bird ain't keen to flight
It's a shame it took descent into the depths to see the light
Nothing much for fun down here in London
Trot along the Thames, admire the views
Stumble in and pass our evenings drunken
'Til the day the pubs run out of booze
Sorry that we're out of grouse for luncheon
Suckle on your husk of crusted bread
Hunger does a number down in London
Watch you'll get a darker taste instead
"Alright, alright, you horrible lot! Settle down! Settle down!"
"You're incorrigible, the lot of ya! Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha"
"Here, you see that gentleman in the cornet?
"Yeah, the fancy sort"
"That is a Mister Byron Brimstone"
"Comes by on occasion, just watches folks, nary a word"
"But I'd wager your Ministry get-up might just get his attention"
"Go and see if he'll indulge you"
How quaint it is, are you the one they've sent to take a name?
I'd say it if I could, but I might set the place aflame
Metaphorically, of course, you see, I've rather gained a fame
From Claridge's to Harrods, well, their charred, decayed remains
I'm a landed man of standing known in every club still standing
From the Abbey to the Strand, you'll find my calendar demanding
I'm a wit of high precision and my manners are enchanting
As befitting my position as a real and human man-thing
Tell me, friend, have you heard the call to peep behind the veil? (Behind the veil)
Tell, me friend, do you hear the shadows sing? (The shadows sing)
Tell me, friend, do you think one day that demons might prevail? (They might prevail)
Tell me, friend, do you believe in such a thing?
I'm an academic sport, quite despite my fine rapport
See, my friend, you're not the only one compiling a report
Whilst the others at my station may not share my fascination
Rest assured my occupation is the normal, mortal sort
You're a fascinating species, of which I am, too, of course
Blessed with soul so thick and treacly I could easily have it corked
In the ceaseless stream of freakery the underneath has wrought
It's not beast, the deep or bleak, but speak of love you seem to squawk
Are your eyes not newly opened to this paradise you've found?
To this dark, arcane arcadia encaved beneath the ground?
Where death, as but a wheel within a wheel, spins ever round
Upon a mortal coil, a spring the likes of we have never wound?
You're a cast of fools and bastards so disastrously inclined
Yet far more entertaining than the vast lot of my kind
So feeble, weak and plebian, and, yet, you pique the mind
Companions are beneath me, or, perhaps, they're ill-defined
You know the higher folds can tire, observing from above?
Chance your wholesome, little doldrum might just serve a spot of buzz?
When it comes to baring souls, I tend to keep things bottled up
But, perchance, it might be droll to take a stroll among the rough
Hm, hm, heh-heh-heh
"Go on, toddle on"
"I'll be seeing you"
Every worried soul in this sorry hole
Lost, forgotten and with all tomorrows stole
Dead and buried, but the dead are very
Much aware of it and, hell, they've paid an horrid toll
How'd we come to be? Down here underneath?
Doubt we'll ever feel the Sun upon our cheeks
Never see another summer, but we've one another
Lust or comfort, love or some relief
Someone to hold me tightly
Someone to treat me rightly
Someone to come shun the ennui and the boredom
With one to hold me closely
Nights mightn't be so lonely
Stranded helpless in the dark and reaching for them
London town laid to rest underground
But yet still deeper down are we
Falling, falling, falling, falling
See them scurry as the rat within the maze
Puzzulary and yet how they fascitate!
Insignifoportant, if cachophocordant
Hunting for a heart to cherisffectionate
Could they only see serendestiny
Death and broken dreams, hellish chemistries
Their apocaclysm spawns a clockanism
Requessary behind their fathometry
Every infatuation, each glance of gladoration
Toothsome cogs of upon our grand enmachinations
Each soul impassionated, hearts stole or lacerated
Each tale impaled by the quill tip to the pages
As the ink bleeds, how I drink these
Narratary little sips of histories
Every skipped beat now to drip feed
Something buried deep in enigmystery
All ends
Swords, pens
Foretent
Phenomonition
Court then
Torment
Love's bent
Definition
Cold and unprepared, wholly unawares
Chronologging their enhidden love affairs
Theresa a currency more potiont underneath
And darker yet beyond that missing Sun of theirs
When you've had to live your life in London
You feel right at home with skies of grey
Ever since the something took us under
Well, a sky of stone looks quite the same
Happens that your city's stuck and sunken
Nothing to be done, so step in time
Maybe what you'll find in Fallen London
Might be more than what you've left behind
Ever now the Sun's in down in London
Up's a bunch of nothing, night and day
Wonder what it was deep down here slumbering
'Til it came to take those skies away
Stuck with some involuntary spelunking
And you'll find the hole's too deep to climb
But if you should rise from Fallen London
Maybe think of all you'll leave behind
"Right, that's it! That's it, everyone, last orders!"
"You reprobates, last orders! Come on, I gotta get my beauty sleep!"
"Well, there you have it, my friend"
"I should say you'll have filled out a fair few forms tonight and no mistake"
"The Sun ought to be out soon"
"Not that we'll see the likes of it down here"
"Me? Oh, there's nought remarkable about Harry Teller worth noting down"
"Besides, I've been dead for a week"
"I feel alright now though"
"Wotcher, ta-ra"
"Read all about it! Read all about it!"
"Biscuit rations to increase by decree of the Masters"
("Baby found in spider's web!")