Flying Fish

Well I heard a
certain rumour
about a sea that lies beneath the ground
where old sailors search for respite
and flying fish return to die
and i pray that you might sail it and find peace upon its waters
in the currents and the eddies of its tides

lift the apron of the earth take your morphine tin and lantern
take a broke back bird for compass
and as it thrash mark your degrees
upon the dust that lays beneath your feet now mark your course to starboard
and sail towards your reckoning on the breeze

(Chorus)

may no nets bind you, you’re unbound by earth or air or water
even as you’re craving for release
these winds that chill you now will fill your sails one day
and may you sail the dark straits of your heart in peace

well my father was a sailor he cursed tidal waves and typhoons
he sailed all the way to China
he took a bride in old Kowloon
and he was often heard to wonder why the sea should seek seduction
of the wandering and coquetish
devil moon

for the sea sought to make capture of her image in his waters
tried to act just like a mirror
played on her vanity and pride
but as soon as he embraced her she faded into darkness
left him yearning drawn towards her on his tides

(Chorus)

Chris Wilson

Twenty Hooded Men

Twenty hooded men on a kitchen vent
praying to the sky. No snow be sent,
hopes of their youth all broken and bent
Twenty hooded men on a kitchen vent
On a kitchen vent,
On a kitchen vent.

Twenty hooded men in the kitchen steam,
Lying on the grill hoping to sleep and dream
Feeling like the cats, that missed out on the cream
Twenty hooded men
In the kitchen steam,
In the kitchen steam

(Chorus)

And we sleep if we can while the bedding is white And dream of the God that gives us the right.
To hold on to our coins, hold on to them tight. And hold on to the hope that our future is bright. But don’t look at the men as you pass them at night.

Twenty hooded men in the kitchen heat
Bathed in the smell of food they’ll never eat Blanket of rain and snow and sleet
Twenty hooded men in the kitchen heat.
In the kitchen heat
In the kitchen heat

Twenty hooded men like a can of sardines
Life should never have got so mean
A kick in the guts where your pride should have been
Twenty hooded men like a can of sardines
Like a can of sardines.

(Chorus)

Twenty hooded men with a new day yawning Hotel security issues a warning
America’s dream with a black band of mourning*** Twenty hooded men leave the heat at dawn Leave the heat at dawn
Leave the heat at dawn
Leave the heat at dawn

Trish Anderson

*** Note sometimes Trish shares the blames around and sings:
the great western dream with a black band of mourning.

Another Season
……peering behind the stoic façade of the farmer’s wife (thanks Jarrod Watt!)

3 inches of rain
A soaking the land needs, no right to complain I danced like an
Injun in the dust Then the sky went black, and the clouds went bust
And the pretty green growing in the night Will feed my family,
another season

3 inches of rain
Brought the river to life, and the waterfall drain Now the kids can play behind the gout Of the weir as it rushes over and out And the tepid dew softening the ground Will feed our town, another season

We’ll love again ‘til winter comes and our old troubles flare Won’t you hold me in the night again, remember why you care Another season

3 inches of rain
Half as long and twice as strong, no right to complain, My needs come second in this game So I’ll put my shoulder to the wheel ‘til night falls again And the brilliant green that comes in the night
Will keep me here another season

Sarah Carroll

Drunk Man

Drunk man, with a smile on his face
Drunk man, such a terrible waste,
Drunk man, with a shake in his hand,
No point in wreckin’ his plan
Drunk man, he’s the talk of the town,
Drunk man, puts his family down,
Sober, there’s a mess in his mind,
There’s no telling how he’ll unwind
Always, always, always, always
Drunk man, telling me I’m his friend
Drunk man, wants to tell me again,
Hold on to the girl at the bar,
Wonder how he’ll get to his car?

Sarah Carroll

Fresh Prince With Red Hair

Now this is the story all about how
My life got flipped, turned upside down.
And I’d like to take a minute just sit right there
I’ll tell you how I became the Prince with Red Hair.

In a palace born and raised
In bubble-wrap is where I spent most of my daze.
Chillin’ out, maxin’, relaxin’ all cool
Shooting wild animals cos we’re born to rule.

Then my parents, who were up to no good
Started making trouble in the neighbourhood. They used to fight and my Mum got scared
Told everyone she used to love a man with Red Hair.

I begged and pleaded with them every day
But they got a divorce and Mummy went away,
On a yacht with an Arab and dragged us along Threw us a disco while he and Mum got it on.

One month later, yo she’s dead!
Wrote my card to Mummy then went out of my head.
Went to talk to Daddy but Daddy wasn’t there Too busy being a tampon, no time for the Spare.

I turned to the bottle, I turned to the bong
Cheated my exams (which apparently is wrong). Started painting dots like the natives Down Under Only cos it looked so easy – didn’t wanna steal their thunder.

Wore a swastika, made front page
Daddy was incandescent with rage.
Third in line, I’m only a Spare
Got no purpose, just the Prince with Red Hair.

punk & blanket