quiescent umbrage
sydney is a woman down by the shore
old and beautiful always young
snorting up lines of traffic and riders
a bitching city wriggling across high rise lands capes
drugged up on saturday night she staggers her arrival
dressed in red clouds and mature grey sky
she shows a lot of leg
she carouses in bars with jacks of all trades
she kneels in temples of masters of zen
mocking the mourners in some gaudy flash
she toasts the idiots on their yachts with a slap of cold spray
knocking at yer door screaming come out you bastard
you boring old bastard
there are dances and card games and orgies and films
there are cafes and theatres there are gardens and rooms
there are shows about anything you ever thought of
man its pulsating out there with intrigue and strife
man the helicopters whirl in
the hoodlums drive up
the tattoo parlour illustratin’ illustratin’ yer skin
the needles are banging
the pipes are all smoking
the coppers take you down with a ‘lectric gun
sydney come here you tipsy old dear
some of these people still out there surfing
the dirty old sharks all hungry confused
the lovely trails someone has left in the sky..how thoughtful..!?
sydney some of your streets are radiant i feel them even here in my tower
sydney in the tunnels and markets and in the marginal fringes
in developments that havent caught on
and traditional federation
and in alleys in the city and in bars in the cross
sydney you know i tried hard to leave you
i see through your lies oh please tell me em again
i close my eyes deep in the opera house
i stood on a stage with a nearly a hundred players
the words that i sang sydney were all of them for you
you fucking should have listen you stubborn little fool
you could have had me again that night
with your fingers of boulevards
and your bridges of love
with your harbouring suspicious evenings
and you give em the quays and you give em rose bay
where mansions rush down to the water
and you give em the reflections in the black surface of moon
and the fluorescent flash of your own clowns camera
and in some chat up meat market you meet your make-up girl
oh hi honey did i ever tellya that you look so sweet?
oh no why thank you i am a big fan of sydney too!
you hear that sydney ?
shall we 3 go back to my tower on your eastern shores
i have certainly by now procured the wherewithal
but first sydney thinks of herself
her sprawling self over acres of paradises and slag heaps
swamps and museums and parties in houses
sydney drags us to parties in balmain and rozelle
we eat a at place and king street turns into a princes highway
hang on a second
sydney hails a cab
she dials a number
the dealers arrive
a guy with the stuff that makes you so white
the woman with the stuff that makes you so black
the old guy who brings the stuff that turns you up loud
the young girl with the stuff that turns you down soft
we 3 of us slurping the champers
a single span bridge sydney sniffs
fuck you… aint it the biggest one in the whole world?
the make up girl giggles and draws in the condensation
sydneys limos speed through the night
carrying visitors and legators hither and fro
and back round the corner for a bitter you know whatski
hey driver take us down to the wharves
we wanna spend a fortune and sample everything
through warehouse districts just like in batman
where crims rent huge spaces to rehearse their capers
dressed in the demi monde of the times
strange tight pants all baggy at the crotchet
and wooly hats or something like that
we smoke cigarettes out front of some hotel
sydney acts as if she is immortal
as if she will never die
but no she can not keep up this pace forever
one day she will probably fall because of her mouth
of course her name might get changed
her houses knocked down
but by then all of us here would have reincarnated
in possible futures where sydney might wander
in ornate paths
in ordinary miracles coincidences seem to align
we interrupt our ride again and again
tolls are deducted by invisible hands in your vault
where they stash your imaginary cash in binary rows
make up girl calls out to friends having a drink and a catch up
i smile as i dial up a pizza and an escort
to escort me through this forest of nescience
in arbours of temptation
out the back in the courtyards
under the lights down at the station
the coppers jeer at ya through your plexiglass cage
in the hospital the overdoses stack up in casualty
they dropping like flies in pubs in the northern beaches
the cars are crashing out there in sydneys cold night
the wives are nagging the husbands are angry
the ambulance driver has seen everything
hes seen the gash in the sides of night
hes seen the fight between drunken despair
hes sewn up the lungs of some fractured morning
and laughed as the first surfer entered the sea
a querulous priest lambasting a flock
never mind the guy they sent round to see ya
never mind the thousand bucks that he owed ya
never mind the finicky twit at the counter
who loses his temper and loses your keys
never mind the guy in the taxi who stops and he starts
i’m feeling quite sick but he just cant drive
never mind all the chlorine in the pool at the makeup girls flat
shes got an apartment looking over the harbour
she dives in her pool with sydney around her
they frolic and splash and gambol and splurge
come on in they say divesting my astral garments
come in says sydney i know that you love me
overlooking my bad sides
my brutal savage history she says
and all of my boyfriends they all end up dead
and all of my rivals although i have none
with my golden streets and my white city ‘scapers
with my murderous secrets twined with moments of peace
oh yes come in and join us
but the traffic is stuck on this side of the bridge
some accident lights up the night like a xmas twee
the elegant waste of evenings like these
the rush of the shot the crack of the whip
the pale naked bodies all seen inner mirror
the crumbling cake you find in her fridge
like a season of folly crammed into an hour
the messages flicker as you monetize your page
and the likes and dislikes build up in your filter
suddenly you shout out some lyrics into the dark
as you stand all alone in make up girls kitchen
where the glamourous cockroaches nibble the brie
where the postcards have faded in 2 centuries mornings
where the hues and the cries are muted or gone
and you help yourself to some terreys chocolate orange
fuck it you cant be bothered to ask
in the morning the girl has gone
but sydney is there
sleeping quietly in the gathering rays
i must be derailed you think to yourself
and then
that thought
it too has gone
WINTERS WISH ALBUM LAUNCH