Broadsword my friend, my gentlemen.
Songs of wood no better man.
Yesterday a better day
From root to branch to where are we right now.
Minstrels come and go
My Jericho, my cheerio.
Two ships are we my father in our shabby clothes.
We wander lonely in our chicken shit and greed.
A cup of tea
The English way,
Dee dee dee da!
Some poor old sod
No genius my friend
No shangrila, we feel alone, my god a thousand lungs.
It is only me.
My spunk no more a sun tan on my heel
That strides the seven diamonds through a skull.
Sell my England for a pound!
No sound have I with a voice of a thousand men.
Slumber for the sleepers,
If it yourself, be dark my distant moon.
Too soon the yellow primrose
Hark the Herald Angels sing
Glory to the suffering,
Soon comes heathaze suffering
So where goes shall I follow?
My cage no glimpse of light,
My Neptune has a better time of late.
How many pounds my England gives a a dam!
My music box, my afterglow,
I know not when the you and I proclaim.
Old man I am no better fool than you.
My island but kaleidoscope,
Sing me to sleep.
I am not here.
You are there
Among the evergreens;