The world's most beautiful man, from Catford to Japan
with black Kung Fu slippers and a filterless Gitane
the world's most beautiful man
in a little house in Greenwich right beside the Cutty Sark
beneath a black umbrella, cool and ghostly in the dark
from Catford to Japan, the world's most beautiful man
Fretless, wreckless, sons of Catford
taking us far from our suburb bedrooms
fretless, peerless, sons of Catford
dragging us out of our south London gloom
Half a snakebite for me and a snowball for you
five prophets on the stage, we were too young to see you
From Catford to Japan, the world's most beautiful band
Nice try, Nick Rhodes, but you never were as cool as Barbieri
Mick Karn's moonwalk, Steve Jansen's sublime drumming, extraordinary
Fretless, wreckless, sons of Catford
taking us far from our suburb bedrooms
fretless, peerless, sons of Catford
dragging us out of our south London gloom
My dad saw him at a party in Chiselhurst Caves
in a psychedelic stripy trench coat
My uncle took tea with him and Angie in Bromley
Long before I was entitled to vote
Years later in Brixton I wept at the mural
just a stone's throw from Stansfield Road
where the midwife swore 'This child has been here before'
and this blue rock really started to roll
Everybody turns to me, even if it's clear to see
that I'm a busted flush, a space where a human being should be
and David Bowie never really sang any love songs
There was Nietsche and Crowley, an assortment of spacemen
and a fear of Americans
and David Bowie never really sang any love songs
an early one for Hermione, but his heart was broken
and he never really tried it again
I think he's on some faraway planet
as the earth spins out of control
it all went to pot on the day that he died
we all lost a piece of our soul
and David Bowie never really sang any love songs
King Arthur's ghost is drifting all around the house
he's only wearing one slipper
and he's eating his cornflakes with a fork again
with a fork again
if I was Aeneas and he was Anchises
I'd carry him far from that blazing town
in that suburban garage, we practised our arrows
when I broke my foot he carried me around
King Arthur's ghost is drifting all around the house
so many unfamiliar faces
a grandson, a daughter, and even a spouse
and even his spouse
he'd always hoped I'd be better at jousting
instead of burying my head in books
but I know he was proud of me all the same
so I guess I can forgive him that
forgive him that
King Arthur's ghost is drifting
all around the house
the bedroom door is open, inviting
so he decides to lie himself down
We're satellites, we're violent skies
we're Martian rovers, and four leafed clovers, and everything crossed
we're billions of eyes, we're entangled thighs
we're algoriths, and familiar schisms, zeroes and ones
and there's a fat chance we'll iron out so many
of the creases that lie in the path
yes there's a fat chance we'll iron out so many
of the creases that lie in the path leading to the future
we're woke, not woke; we're oceans of Coke
we're clouds of glysophate dropped from payload bays and it's all too late
we're space junk, we're galleons sunk
we're rivers of dung, and Hail Mary's undone, and nowhere to hide
so don't bother waiting, cos the accident has already happened
no don’t bother waiting, because there are no happy accidents
and there's a fat chance we'll iron out so many
of the creases that lie in the path
yes there's a fat chance we'll iron out so many
of the creases that lie in the path leading to the future
Rutger Hauer releases the dove
and we all let out a cry
we start our days on a whinge and a prayer
as Roy says it’s time, as Roy says it’s time
as Roy says it’s ‘time to die’
Uncle Monty unleashes the gown
and our eyes are opened wide
in the Black Cap in Camden, we drink double gins
with iced cider on, with iced cider on
with iced cider on the side
Danny the champion of the world
sits high up on my book shelf
yet it’s the other Dalle, Beatrice
who now fills my dreams
magnificently naked on her French balcony
Rutger Hauer releases the dove
and we all let out a sigh
we end our days on a binge and a prayer
as we kiss our youth, as we kiss our youth
as we kiss our youth goodbye
To get away from all these strange men we're the Acoustics of Buildings
we lock ourselves in the music room we're the Acoustics of Buildings
and there create precisely nothing of value or worth it's a phantom birth
Joe, don't leave now, you're my only friend in the Acoustics of Buildings
Bard, we should have found you a better place in the Acoustics of Buildings
and where did all that energy go?
on chasing the girls and learning machine code
Jon, are you sure about those pantaloons? in the Acoustics of Buildings
Manuel, eyeliner belongs on the eyes in the Acoustics of Buildings
as for me my hair is strawberry blonde, of it I am fond
then the roots start to show and time marches on
and those dreams are gone
So don't let those bully boys pursue you to the ends of the earth
for a bit of make-up
no, don't let those bully boys pursue you to the ends of the earth
for a bit of lipstick, or eyeliner, or strange trousers
or hair dyed a funky shade of green
the falling stars, are breaking all our hearts
and time is not the great healer, it's always cracked up to be
The distance in your eyes, the longing in your sighs
Why do the stars fall from the sky? and not keep burning bright?
and we really don't know, where all this anger can go
for the briefest of moments when we open our eyes
they're shining and gloriously alive
and now my only pleasure comes in pleasing you
I carpet bomb you with sweet nothings, but your defences hold true
the falling stars, are breaking all our hearts
and time is not the great healer, it's always cracked up to be
no, time is not the great healer, it's always cracked up to be
This is my mournful morning song, what could possibly go right?
Balconies sagging, facades collapsing, the barbarians are at the gates
the waters are encroaching again, but it'll all be forgotten by then
‘Posso promenare con te?’ The sun might even shine for us today
We're holding hands in that final picture
I hear they're selling it on E-bay
I've slipped on black ice so many times I've lost count
You've slipped on black ice so many times I've lost count
of all the bruises, it always bemuses me
'Where to?' the Swiss taxi driver says, I say 'the clinic' but you get there before me
and say 'to CERN, because I yearn, to be dissolved into quarks and electrons'
he says 'That is the clinic did you not know? Are you sure thar's the way you really want to go?'
Now we're particles at the speed of light, we hardly put up any kind of fight
I've slipped on black ice so many times I've lost count
We've slipped on black ice so many times we've lost count of all the bruises
it always bemuses me, how we spend so little time in the middle of the night
thinking where we're gonna go, when this river stops its flow
How we spend so little time in the middle of the night
Thinking where we’re gonna go, when this river stops its flow
I am the elephant in love with the flower girl
every day I stand adoringly by her side
as she sells her, she sells her posies
I am the elephant I slip my trunk inside her dress and
gently caress her ivory chest as she sells her posies
her ring a ring a rosies
and London Bridge is falling down
and Humpty Dumpty has broken his crown
and the world is so beautiful tonight, you're so beautiful tonight
There's a camera on a tripod in the corner of the room
pointing expectantly at where the action should be
so he reaches for another, another blue diamond
From Casanova to Farinelli
Homo erectus to double sapiens
and the world is so beautiful tonight
you're so beautiful tonight
I am the elephant every night I lie contentedly by her side
as she dreams of, she dreams of her lover
I am the elephant, I am the elephant
long rambling speeches by Gordon Brown
count all the freckles on the cheeks of the clown
all the leaves on those umbrella plants
nursery rhymes and Gregorian chants
patches of damp on the bedroom wall
candy floss as it slowly unspools
grey concrete buildings on the edge of town
not too much distraction or it'll all come crashing down
I am the elephant
I am the elephant
A naked countess with bracelets and pearls
he was always addicted to heroines
a sanguine and verdant army
amidst a land of sap of chlorophyll
and he knows he knows he knows he knows
he knows he knows he knows he knows
what it means to really suffer
and he knows he knows he knows he knows
he knows he knows he knows he knows
when the waves are gonna get even rougher
The skull of a horse by the side of the road
reconfigured, he’s fresh and untried
the boulder in the valley like nature’s full stop
he lies on the cold cement floor
and he knows he knows he knows he knows
he knows he knows he knows he knows
what it means to really suffer
and he knows he knows he knows he knows
he knows he knows he knows he knows
when the waves are gonna get even rougher
oh Maximilian in his illuminated burrow
a symphony of blood, only reminds him of his sorrow
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