The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

sheila chandra
a bone crone drone
doing yoga on the balcony in the early morning
what is the nature of this thing we call life ?
sheila chandra (moon) begins with a drone
the drone of her own voice
the drone of an organ
the drone of a string
the drone is maintained throughout
it modulates slightly
it is sometimes thickened with other drones
sometimes it moves upon itself subtly
but it is the one thing
the thing that the other sounds rise and fall upon
part of it yet different
they must be in tune with it
they wait until their moment in the music arrives
and they rise up from the drone
they play their part
they sink back into the drone
the drone plays on nonetheless
the foundation
the given
the cornerstone
the basic principle
the inescapable bedrock of the music
and i think of us all
springing from the drone of god
playing a little part
subsuming back into the drone
maybe coming back again as a reprise
or a motif
or a played out cluster of lovely notes
and the instruments have yoked themselves to the drone
and as the world itself is a complex interactive interacting machine
so are we
system upon system upon system
every system affects every other system
the west only beginning to realize this
but long ago in india
some clever cats who came at things from different angles
not your obvious angles
everyone can see the obvious angles
but only a few people can really think outside the box
the box of puzzles
the box of dilemmas
the box of maya and illusion
these cats these rishis
they intuit yoga
there you go
they did not invent it
they intuited it
they apprehended it in a deep still part of themselves
a part every human has
but you need an angle to get in
you get locked outta your house
you need a new angle to get in, right?
a locksmith maybe
someone whos studied ways to get into locked doors
so these cats these rishis these early yogis
they figure it all out
thousands of years ago
when the west was still picking its nose in a cave
they sussed it
yoga
yoke yourself to the one thing
whatever the fuck that is
dont stand around arguing about its name
we do not have the language to describe the truth
whatever it is
nor do we have the minds to understand
because this game is deep and complex
whilst being simultaneously dead easy
just like fight hard fight easy
you have to take it easy to do something very hard
it is hard to take it easy
vishnu says
i am, i am not
the whole structure is built upon these paradoxes apparently
yoga resolves the paradoxes
there are many yogic paths
the path of devotion yes
the path of knowledge
the path of physical yoga
physical yoga tunes up your physical body
we are spirits operating a physical body via a mental interface
just like a driver maintains his vehicle
we must maintain our physical vehicle
it must be tuned up
it must be stretched and bent and kept flexible
all those pathways within us
the neural
the electrical
the chemical
the invisible spiritual currents
all must be able to flow
all our different systems must be in working order
if we can
we can add an additive
like putting some enhancing agent in your engine
and that is yoga
and that is chi gong
and that is martial arts
and that is incredible athletic gymnastic or musical feats
so you soup up n customize your common or garden chassis
man if you work this system
your slow old lemon
could still turn into a jaguar
your sloth could turn into a mangy panther
and you put the time in
you put the overtime in
you get your rewards
more time in
more rewards out
what rewards? burps some sweet couch potato
oh man
synching up with the uni-verse
hows that for your reward
just that alone…why only a fool would refuse….
you got to get your heart pumping
you got to get your blood moving
you got to get your muscles strong
you got to get your mind still
quieten the cacophony raging in your head
you got to find a discipline
you gotta find your ticket to universal synchronization
maybe not the others
maybe not the barbarians out there doing their thing
but you who read my blog
who like my music
who find something in me that draws you back
i know you would want this thing too
to be more than you were
to surprise yourself and others
to improve slowly but surely everyday
improve at life
improve at what you can do
wrestle more out of your life
get a membership to the universal subconscious
i got mine
and i’m raiding it for ideas all the time
and sometimes
for the briefest moment
i feel god residing in his little chamber
in my heart of hearts

morning comes
well you can depend on it cant ya?
in some bizarre future
i have reincarnated as some old white freckly guy
i stand in the mirror looking at myself
ooh its hard to judge
1 minute i think
yeah you look ok for 55
1 minute i think
ok
yeah you look 55
no one can avoid age can they?
yes i have the wrinkles n lines to prove it
my beard is almost all white
my hair is still brown
my temples are grey
tim says to me
old age is coming from below for you
yes my hair is still brown
hardly any any grey
its a little thinner than my heyday 25 years ago
but its still there despite it all
not too bad actually when you see blokes of 30 with no hair at all
my teeth…ah…yellow cracked n a few rotten
yeah im getting em looked at soon
my dentist always calls in his staff
look at this mans enamel….worn away to the dentine …!
good on ya tooth quack
boy not looking forward to expense n discomfort involved
my eyes are their usual selves
the only nice thing i heard elli say about me while she was here:
scarlets got those amazing eyes like daddy
ah well they dont look too amazing at 6.55 am
just bleary
anyway
i cant see myself so well close up
thanks to my fading eye sight n my misadventure with the champers cork
of course my ears ring ring ring a high horrible tone or tones
yoga has straightened me out n up of course
i try to do 2 sessions a day
i sometimes dont make the complete 2
but now i am accelerating backwards physically in time
that is
my body itself is more supple more in tune more able
than it was in my bloody heyday n my payday 25 years ago
i meet people they say you look younger than before
i surmise youth is suggested in body language
the loose limbed walk of the young fella
the miserable shuffle of the old bloke
well i aint gonna shuffle baby not yet
not for you or old age
and baby oh old age is surely breathing down my neck
but you see my intuitive plan
was swim yoga vegan (almost)
swim for the deep but not convulsive exercise
so you finish a good workout but not redfaced n sweaty n breathless
youre cool childe
youre sleek like a fish
you practiced the elegant art of swimming
and oh boy them fuckin’ endorphins
you dont think the olde time being
staggers away from yonder pool
loaded to the eyeballs on endorphins
theyre free baby theyre free
and i know youd go to any trouble to score
so go to the trouble of a 1 k swim
i guarantee you’ll be high
yeah i love being high
i dont like feeling low
i read that exercise fights off de-gen brain diseases too
well the mind n the spirit n the body
come on
if they arent interconnected
then neither are your fingers n thumbs n hands
so oh swimming
good for your body
good for your soul
what more do ya want
in cold water even better
then of course theres yoga
and yoga is a sublime path
yoga can only lead you to better things
yoga is the only real antidote to time i have found
and you persevere year in year out
gonna take a while to re shape my body n bones
but i know when i hit 60
i’m gonna hit the ground flexible
its quite miraculous
the rejuvenation process
people who last saw me play in the nineties
or early 2000
shocked at what i have become
in a good way
how great it is to shock people in a good way
when i limber out all bendy bouncy and fit
look you can do it too
cant you see its working
its fuelling my late life creative spurt too mr humphries
in more ways than one that is too
i feel confident to take anything on
though i still ruin almost all practical things i attempt
yoga n swimming havent fixed that
being a vegan
well
you wanna ever see your cheekbones n jawline again brother
i suggest you eat right
its not a pleasant pill to swallow …at first
no more more beer n cheese n meat n eggs n milk
get off yer bum
swim
yoga
walk about
i walk at least 5 k everyday often at a very high speed
i run up steps
i never slow down
i march hard n its effortless
i see dads in playground 20 years younger than me
they waddle around with their love handles n blubber
they puff n pant if they have to chase the kids
i feel sorry for em
what the fuck will they look like
and feel like at my age…?
how disappointed their wives will be
to be married to a big old puffing wreck
come on its a challenge
lets fucking defy this zeitgeist
lets fucking get fit
lets get mobile
lets get some spring in yer step
even if like me
youre approaching winter
i will not go quietly into that good night
i’m gonna investigate the multiplication effects
of swimming yoga n vegan (almost) diet
i expect to look younger next year (except my face of course)
i expect to be writing better songs
i expect to be painting better paintings
and most of all
if youre (un)lucky enuff to see my band
you’ll notice my unfettered delight
in poncing about at my ripe old age
and showing off
the results
of all my hard work
discipline
(not normally a characteristic most people associate with me)
now gotta do it
gonna hit the front garden and bend this machine
this amazing machine we been given by god
it does everything n keeps the rain out of our brain
so you gotta tune it up
i do anyway
now i’m on this yogic path can never should never stop
art music yoga swimming singing summer
fuck
i’m a lucky guy
i know
i do know

warm silent grey saturday
what does it contain?
as the seconds n minutes slowly reveal ’emselves
this day you will never have again…. probably
you should see the bushes moving in the wind
you should smell the sea breezes gusting at five knots
you should hear the distant happy shouts of children
as the ice cream truck makes its rounds up
billabong ave
then albert street
then baines place
then mansfield st
then the freakin’ blvde of broken dreams
i feel : everything
thats why i tried to blot it all out
what do i feel
i feel the greeness and the yellowness of moss
i notice the white eggs in the mouths of black ants
i see the cars with for sale signs which seem to never sell
i see the beautiful ugly people and momentarily i am them
i am them as they are you and you read me and we are all together
we are all together in this poem now
i have invoked you whom readeth and you are in this now
no excuse for not touching my pasteldusty keyboard
thru my tanned little fingers
only one type type types though
my right index bears the percussive brunt
tap tap type type
the way i retell my tales makes em seem unreal
some of my life was so unreal
unreally bad
unreally good
unreally real too
and really unreal
now thats just plain sophistry
but nonetheless i sit in my room
done my yoga
done my swimming
done my blah blah blah
lucky you i’m now writing my blahg
my blah blah blahg
me me me me me me
a gynormous explosion of narcissistic claptrap
and self congratulatory bilge
plus super nostalgic snapshots of some kids past
some kid you never heard of
some kid out there with freckles n a cruel streak
short brown dead straight hair
he did this
he did that
his dad smoked bloody joe blow cigarettes
and his mum worked as a whatnot for such n such
did any of it ever happen i dont expect so
i wish i could go back to one particular day
like in the early daze of my band
when we shot up thru the ranks
when we were screamed at by our audience and our roadies
yeah heres a snapshoot of me
i’m playing the megadrome and theres 1 million screaming teenagers
and we’re killing it
and everyone understands it too
every screaming groovy rich well adjusted healthy kid there
well they grokk my groovy trip
this really all happened
and we created a golden dome of energy
and our good karma nourished the crowds
and we played the secret chord that pleased the lord
which was really some kinda f maj or 7
with something left in or out
and man we throbbed like a machine in lift off
and wow i guess that woulda surprised that freckle face brat
to be standing there throbbing
as for the briefest moment stars were aligned
and $ $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ $ $
and i comprehended the nature of fame
and i seeing its inherent emptiness
i donated my hundreds of dollars to
buying myself a cave
where i dwelt meditating on the nature of draftiness
in the lotus pasture
and i read melancholic chinese poems
as i stood on a little bridge
and a blue swallow with a white throat flew overhead
and one day i realized
i realized everything
and the thing about everything
was that there was nothing
nothing to be done or said or even known
i just filled my head with nothing
stuffed it bloody well full of empty-ness
but rocknroll turned into showbiz
and being a hermit made crabby
and nothings better than complete happiness
and showbiz is better than nothing
my life seemed to jump n start in great gushes forwards n back
one minute the idol next minute the idle next minute no idyll
not really ideal
although i usually do deal
arent words crazy
like figures you can add em up anyway you want
you can have a blog n write whatever you like
you dont have to say this is real
this is true
it may be
it may not be
you just make it all up as you go along dontcha
blah blah blah
you put it in your blog
what a weird future i live in
spruiking my mummies book out in deep cyberspace
a cyber space no one could foresee
back when the good old bombs came down on london town
nor when your humble hero came suavely kicking n screaming
nor when i first humbly picked up a bass guitar
and knocked out my first riff
drove my datsun to the flats n
but the levy was dry
canberra
does it really exist?
yeah someone will write
i still live here…..
are you sure
are you sure youre awake
go on
pinch yourself
n
then
forget yourself
forever BABY!

surprise surprise
its still summer
and the sheer weight of it
comes down on me in our mediocre concrete backyard
a garden it aint
its hot n still n humid
someone hammers
someone shouts out
children squabble
taxis pull up
the shop sells its milk n eggs n cigs n newspapers
the time being inc pty ltd .com.net.org(asm)
sits in his messy art junk room
on my desk right now is :
a can of fix
a pot of gold paint
a huge double tiered box of pastels
now sadly out of order n missing a few dead soldiers
other pastels of different types
have infiltrated the once strict order of my box
can you imagine how delightful the original pristine thing looked
a sweep thru the colours from black to white in about 200 pastels
some of em lie unused untouched in their positions
others are stubs n bits n pieces
some are just empty
pastels a l’ecu by sennelier
my art guru/deelah holly got them for me years ago
theyre like my main axe
since then she got me some iridescent pastels
now mixed up with the others
theyre the same brand n look the same but when they go on…..
now i always start with black i dont use the iridescents so much
but they can really fuck up your black paint with a slimy residue
also holly sent me a box of portrait pastels
and another box of another type n now theyre all pitifully mixed up
my pan pastels (pot pastels actually (ha ha on many levels))
i have paintbrushes
i have erasers
(no i wont call them rubbers , mr humphries…)
i also have one box of my mothers book
i will sell them to you direct and give money to her (maybe)
just paypal me $ 25 and say its for book
n i personally will post em to ya!
i will autograph each copy myself
heres some quotes from her book to pique yer interest
“she was sure steven had great potential as a pianist
and this pleased his dad no end
(then some events occur)
we never saw her again! you blew it, didnt you, steve?”
and try this
“steve and russell were sitting and i was queuing
when a fellow rushed up to me
giving me a big hug saying
what on earth are you doing here?
i was taken aback and looked over to my sons
who were both staring in amazement
i felt sorry for this man really
he must have felt like such a fool when he realized his error
and i wasnt whoever he thought i was!”
or…..what mum…hmmm……?
and finally
check out this scorcher
” i managed to undress steven
and telling him to look at his sooty book,
i climbed on to the top bunk
hoping for oblivion”
freud’d love it…..
but beware theres not too much me in this book
its quite a colourful story
of times n lives that are quite diff’rent to the modern bop
anyway if you were an absolute kilbey compleatist
then you would have to say this is essential
i have my old headphones which some unknown kid busted
scarlet it wasnt me
eve it wasnt me
aurora it wasnt me
my new expensive headphones meant for studio work
random tubes of paint
jet black
turquoise
flame red
some remote controls
an easel
some paper
postcards
flyers
business letters
dictionary of the vulgar tongue
sample:
queer as dicks hatband : out of order
pursy : short- breathed or foggy
pushing school : a brothel
quail-pipe : a womans tongue
i also have a battery recharger
and bits of wire
and some window cleaner
pencils n applicators
blah blah blah
ok gotta go now
n do something meaningful
strike a blow for the caws
etc
in spades
yers truly ruly unruly too
sk
n bondi
2010

its summer in sydney just after christmas
i guess everyones gone away coz its real real quiet
yeah you can park anywhere
the people have all gone north n south
in little villages on days like this….what do they do…?
they play cricket on the beach
they drink beer and smoke
they sit in little deck chairs in the warm prehistoric darkness
some surfers “root” girls in the back of their vans
some take acid and sit around fires on remote beaches
they swim in the lagoons and they fish from the bridge
“no fishing allowed” but there they all are
they have a last swim in the motel pool before mum n dad go out
they eat toasted cheese n tomato sandwiches n chips
n a chocolate milk in the bandstand or grandstand or pagoda
they play euchre on card tables and eat crisps
they get the stuff ready for tomorrow
the holiday is drawing to an end
seems like it never would but there you go
we drive from albion park to oak flats
dad up front of course driving
uncle harry next to him
im in the back between aunty margaret n mum
aunty margaret nurses terry
mum nurses russell
uncle harry n dad smoke n smoke n smoke
dad smokes “filthy rothmans”
uncle harry smokes temple bar n 555
these seem exotic to me
dad always always smokes rothmans
uncle denis smokes viscount
sometimes denis smokes one of dads if he runs out
sometimes i see dad say ” give us a viscount , symonds!”
and he’ll smoke a viscount
i look at him n raise my eyebrows
he looks at the cigarette n shrugs
he is a confirmed rothmans man until they invent benson n hedges
then suddenly everyone starts smoking benson n hedges
do you suppose there really was a mr benson n mr hedges
its like lambert n butler isnt it?
two snobby names giving tobacco a fancy air
my dad only smoked british cigs
no sir he did not like american style cigs
my dad called cigs fags
all the english blokes did
long before the american meaning became known to us
one of our roadies jokes was
gotta fag for an old digger?
gotta a digger for an old fag?
ha ha ha well maybe you hadda bee there
anyway isnt shocking that i should be so well acquainted
with my dads nicotine habit
but we didnt know in those days it was so bad…did we …?
so we drive along us women children n babies
no seatbelts
as many as you like
a car full of fowl smoke
driving to oak flats
where theres a beach n a lagoon n pine trees
n fishnchips n maybe some kids from my school
yeah theres joy ballard
and theres john trevanion
and theres ian morris
and theres christine cameron
and theres colourful towels against the white sand
we didnt know sunburn was bad for ya neither
we’re all as red as beetroots
well
you can beat an egg but you cant beat a root
ha ha
dad and uncle harry have movie cameras
aunty margaret n mum dont like being filmed
go away les .!
my mother mouths silently on super 8
and she pulls an annoyed face
everyone looks so young young young
russell is like a white blur
his head is full of snowy white hair
dad films me
and i run around cross eyed n bucktoothed
flapping my arms like real stupid brat
suddenly i stop and i look into the camera
theres a flash and a bang
and we’re travelling across the waves
the lens is spotted with droplets of water
dad is trying to fish but he doesnt know what hes doing
hes got the perpetual rothmans in his mouth
as he reels in a big nothing
a lovely sunset has come down n we go over to visit some people
they serve food i cant eat n i run outside and explore
i brutally kill any bugs that i find
i squash em n crush em n hit em
i find some matches n i burn leaves n things
i pull out my plastic soldiers n i melt ones leg off
poor thing i think a battle injury
i stage a little war in the grass
people die heroic deaths in my little garden war
it gets dark i go inside
the grown ups are drinking beer n my dads playing piano
mum n dad drink only shandies..half beer n half lemonade
dad is in his element on the piano
but it bores me n even makes me a little angry to see him show off
i say some cheeky things eventually
and my mum promises me a good smacking when we get home
luckily they forget about it by the time we get home
into your own little beddybyes says mum n dad together
ouch i got more sunburnt
mum slaps on calamine lotion
you caught the sun son she says
the cold calamine lotion does actually soothe it
i lay in my room with my golden book encyclopedias
with my rubber knife and my cap gun and my drawers
with my school uniform n my good clothes
its raining outside softly
so softly
i fall asleep
to a gentle drip drip drip
drip
drip
drip

white storm arrives
the twillies fly away tonight
goodbye back to sweden
the water was green and warm
the sand was yellow and damp
the glass was smooth and brown
the houses are grey with red roofs
n’talie plays the black ryder
i sit looking at all my pastels dumbly
my wrist is a little achey
i think of early days in rozelle
when it rained and i felt so alone
in an alien place
in the damp n horrible basement
which flooded
a thousand cockroaches floating in the murk
i took a bad trip n got on some wrong bus
i thought i was ten
or maybe i was eight again
in wollongong
i took the bus to the wollongong pool for swimming lessons
i pretended i could swim
but on the last day i couldnot swim
no no no
i stood on the side shaking my wet head
i wandered home defeated
summer storm n all
thunder cracks n everything
in rozelle the real estate had not yet boomed
my street was full of crazy old migrants and crims
my street was full of bodgies and widgies and ho-daddies
my street was full of puddles with oil shining on em in rainbows
my street had weird people with strange problems
i was the only norbal one
i was perfectly norbal do you hear
perfectly perfectly norbal
i took drugs and made music on my machine
but i was norbal all right
in old rozelle greasy and flea-ridden
old industrial sludgy muddy tar-y unstarry dump
lever and kitchen fallout
the locals were all half-sick leading their half-lives
and summer was an unbearable blast of concrete heat
amen

oh silver delicious evening
sublime harbour beach swim swim
like antipodean mediterranean afternoon
like julius seizer himself might march from the waves
like i am back in blessed malta
like i am back in the holy streets of tyre
like i stroll upon the sea of gally lee
oh i pour good wishes on everyone
oh i am everyone else all at once
the old and the young
my consciousness is spread throughout the people
of course none of this is strictly true
but sudden joy pierce guy like me
like im on the verge
like im on the threshold
like im on caffeine or cocaine
in the water the vague shadows of fish
a cotton wool warm mist comes down on the harbour
the droplets zing in my earrings
i see a geezer i know who talks to me
i cant concentrate the sunlight fighting thru cloud
we walk back to the car
ha ha i am good natured papa
where is my child
i say laughing
where is my human child…?
here here here ! squeals little chubby scarlet
running along in her iridescent pink bikini bottoms
tibor in pale gold waits for us like an obedient beast
he starts first time
soon me n my gals are cruising in a slipstream thru the streets
we listen to old classic radio
we curve n sway n rock n roll
n the golden beast serves us well
quietly flying on its rubbery wings steel reinforced
i got no shirt n my hair is still wet
we roll the windows down down down
earlier today i hit surry hills
n jorden brebachs orange room
for some work on something german
see you soon a ha

a golden misty cloud comes down on the city
through the window that delicious breeze
the sound of children playing far off far out
a plane the inevitable plane above us
the planes we travel through at night
the way we interpret the future
the way we anticipate our death
in a split second in time
in a split second in space
a tiny slice of civilization plods along happily
most of sydney still on holiday
its quiet out there
the pale gold thing slumbers in the drive
broken slivers of mirrors
ants n thorny weeds
sand like grey dusty soil surprisingly yields a riot of flowers
people check into their rooms
a million soy lattes are on the bubble
people with their plans for extensions
a cape cod n a rumpus room with ocean glimpses
and in this weather my thoughts turn to the indian gods
and to the jungles and forests
and the swans gliding on ponds which reflect the bengali sky
and i sit in the quiet darkness of the forest of suburbia
and the trees moving bending gracefully in seabreezes
and the twinkling streetlights like stars
as the light turns to peach
and everything is temporarily soft
the flyscreens are busted n flap in the wind
clouds hover like equatorial fish
rice paper rolls for dinner
we sit in the grey quiet of the kitchen
the parrots call out chatter and are suddenly silent
some trees hardly move in the winds
they stand erect like phalli
immovable
other trees bounce and shiver and shimmy down
all from the same soil n water n sun these different trees
i go swimming
in the pool is a piece of eel
i bump into it
it had gone thru the pump explained a guy who works there
in the sauna a few regulars a few strangers sweat it out
tho in truth one did not need a sauna today
ah but now the payoff
this delightful evening has arrived
people still half celebrating something they half forgotten
for 2 hours the world hangs suspended in twilight
everything is possible
things exchange shapes and move on
move on into warm darkness
move on into prehistoric summer night

it becomes very hot
i heat up like a red devil
i am heat
i give off heat
though ironically
ive got cold feet
red heat
cold feet
more probs with t-bore mk 11
more alien feelings in my head
more delusions of grandeur
feelings of percy-cution
i empty my pockets
tiny gold coins roll out as if startled
bunches of keys
small bits of paper
bits of string
paperweights
arrowheads
the ace of spades
small jars of unguent
a shopping list in pig latin
dental flozz
mental notes
sequences in code
the people downstairs are having a dinner party
i enjoy hearing the laughter and drunken shouts and squeals
it reminds me this is summer
it reminds me i am still alive and living in bondi
all around parties, tvs, and music compete on the v. warm air
to you in winter how can you understand
i sit here shirtless
slightly hot n bothered
my eyes bulge as they watch my fingers type type type
the heat has sent me madder lake
i am cold stoned sober
i swim in warm limpid waters swirling green with foam n dolphins
i drive through a tangle of streets becoming lost in the radio
the cafes overflow like the styx river in full flood
malchicks in silly hats puh-lease
girls walloping along in their scanty panties
and maternity gown-like thingies
the regular crazies now almost organized like a union
those south american n israeli handsome macho brutes
the merchants flogging their swag
people hanging off the rafters
dance music bang bang bang
womens voices call out in the dark night
dorks howl in the kennels of Suburb
goblins grin in sin city
more sweet bubble tea
more sugar n syrup and sugary syrups
gratification
adolescent lolly fix
my poor rotten teeth
soon must be fixed
will keep you “posted” ha ha
(a post is necessary in a crown)
and this king rude daddy needs more than one crown
long may he rain over ya
as the night goes on the celebrations soften all around
i sit in my womb of impenetrability
i am a rock i am an island
i paint i sing i turn inside out
yoga in the garden
vishnu reaches through the dappled sunlight
slanting onto me
he says oh why dont you go to india
its waiting there for all of you
i hear the beach boys
i see ploogy again as he was
as i was
at it all really was
on those hot night that were virtually an eternity ago
we had a fucking laugh at everyones expense and mostly our own
eventually our own
now i am the cliched man remembering his youth and distant times
we played in a million clubs n bars n all the way
from cairns to melbourne
we hit london n madrid and new york on real hot nights
we hit new orleans on really hot nights
we signed bad deals
we dealt bad signs
we fathered children to come after us
i continue emptying out my pockets
ooh bitter tears
ooh spleen n bile
ooh gossip n slander, salamander
ooh random tips on how to write a hit
random hits on how to trip at the tip
you get the picture
being old isnt all bad
some people in my head sneer n guffaw
some angrily applaud
well at least i know which side my beer is battered
right?

baby on a hot day
sip something sweet
cool as cold pudding
like lakes at your feet
and
baby on a hot day
touch something smooth
cool as cold pudding
to get in your groove

yeah you got all the trimmings

remember how you used to stand so proud
under the awnings laughing out loud
remember how you used to partly submerge
into the crowd if you got the urge
and remember how you used to turn up trumps
and turn down tramps who used your pumps
and remember how you used to turn to stone
everytime you rocked in the mineral zone
and remember how you rode a cart
until they tore that thing apart
and remember how you named that hill
but the valley remains unnamed still
and remember how you wandered off
and then came back but just to scoff
honey whats that on your lip…froth….?

yeah you got all the trimmings