Fly Boy Blue / Lunette

It's a lethal ballet

Air traffic congestion

I'm having a baby

Second thoughts, scotch, dinner

And someone's dancing on the box

A former MP

And no one was watching

My oldest friends are a serious habit

Fly boy blue, so bring your faces home

To my sweet trampoline

And acres of crash site love

Someone's dancing on the box

A former MP

And no one was watching

My oldest friends are a serious habit

Fly boy blue, so bring your faces home

To my sweet trampoline

And acres of crash site love

Presidential delays

Suppose I'm just lucky

I'm having a shindig

Me, Red Bob and The Ivory Host

And someone's shouting on the box

A chinless prefect gone Godzilla

My newest friends have forgotten my name

But so have I, so far so good and home

You and me trampoline and oceans of crash site love

What can be said of the cigarettes smoked

A prop for a joke or a mark on the clock

If I stopped would the bus ever come

Would the dawn ever kiss me, forgiven me, knowing what's done

Would the drivel make scribble make sense and then song

Would the woodbines denied like the northern man's thumbs

Perverse as it may sound I sometimes believe

The tip to my lips just reminds me to breathe

What can be said of the whiskey and wine

Random abandon or ballast for joy

That was scuppered with trust, little more than a boy

And besides I'm in excellent company

I'm reaching the age when decisions are made

On life and living and I'm sure last ditch

That'll I'll ask for more time

But mother forgive me

I'll still want a bottle of good Irish whiskey and a bundle of smokes in my grave

But there isn't words yet for the comfort I get

From the gentle lunette at the top of the nape of the neck that I wake to

And where are the words for the leap in my chest