There was a boy who came into this world |
| At the hands of a holy woman in a holy place |
| He wore a red coat and walked a bulldog |
| Saw them reflected in the mirror of the lakes |
| Lived in the shadow of the mountains |
| With the smells of disinfectant, dusty old leather |
| And the polished wood of his bed |
| No more than a baby feeding swans on the river |
| Holding the hands of his mother |
| And the wax paper bag of yesterday's bread |
And his father on the other side of the world |
| On the ships railings and some far away tide |
| With the silent dry tear of home thoughts from abroad |
| In his far away eyes |
| In his far away eyes |
The smell of the wax on the wooden floor |
| Mixture of polish and soap |
| No children to fear or to play with |
| Rows of empty hooks for the coats |
| An upright piano and the boys in the choir |
| Still remind him of just before he was born |
| Remind him of just before he was breathing |
| Strange misty visions of God |
| Turn the cities into families |
| Into villages of souls |
| Hovering in the air while they're sleeping |
| With their houses invisible |
| Chase the moon between the buildings |
| Running as fast as I could run |
| Send to me the ghosts of Christmas |
| Whispering, "You're the only one" |
And ever since I was a boy |
| I never felt that I belonged |
| Like everything they did to me |
| Was an experiment to see |
| How I would cope with the illusion |
| In which direction would I jump |
| Would I do it all the same |
| As the actors in the game |
| Or would I spit it back at them |
| And not get caught up in their rules |
| And live according to my own |
| And not be used, not be used |
| To find the fundamental truths |
| It was going to take some time |
| Thirty five summers down the line |
| The wisdom of each passing year |
| Seems to serve only to confuse |
| Seems to serve only to confuse |
Daddy came out the navy and took us away |
| To his dirty grey home town |
| And he worked down on a coal mine for National Service |
| So that he could be around |
| There was a magical purple in the chrome of the exhaust |
| Of his Triumph motor bike |
| And a warmth of oil and metal and the thrill of the hard corner |
| Holding tight |
From the horizon |
| Came home from the Navy to the mine |
| From the horizon |
| To buried alive |
| Took his dream underground |
| Buried his treasure in his faraway eyes |
And one day as the boy lay sleeping in the sunshine |
| Of a half remembered afternoon |
| A cloud of bees with no particular aim, and no brain |
| Found the boy, decided that his time had come |
| Came down out of the sky |
| Stung him in the face |
| Again and again |
| Blue pain |
| Screaming like baptism |
| Intravenous, Jesus! |
| Like being chosen |
| Blue pain from something with no brain |
| I can't explain |
| It's happening again |
| It's happening again |
Oh Mummy, Daddy, will you sit a while with me |
| Oh Mummy, Daddy, will you jog my memory |
| Tell me tall tales of Montego Bay |
| Table mountain, flying fish, banana spiders, pots of paint |
| And the sun on the equator |
| Setting like an ember thrown to deep water |
| From crimson to black |
| But coming back |
| Tomorrow |
| On the horizon |
The blue pain |
| Fades to a point where it doesn't fade |
| It stayed |
| Blue |
| Stirred his red coat heart to this strange engine |
| This love |
This love |
| This inconvenient, blind, blood-diamond |
| This puzzle |
| I don't understand |
| That knows no faith |
| And tries and fails |
| And tries again |
| Stares at the sea |
| The night's dark deep |
| For one last time |
| And bleeds |
| And bleeds |
| And dies for you |
| And lies |
| And is to blame |
| And is ashamed |
| And is not the same |
| And is true |
| And is true |