It stabbed me in the chest like the pimp prudent's knife into poor wandering Beckett under a mother of pearl sky.
At the back of the wall I bawled cursing all in reel and rhyme whilst feeling out of sorts like a road sweeper dressed up to the nines. As the multicoloured kite, over shoulders taking flight and the local matador gives two fingers to the girl next door.
I had a dream that James Dean was alive and well today, looking for a quiet life, working for Irish Rail and in my father's clothes with a bloody nose I sang isn't it to sweat. By the slot machine there's James Dean out cold beneath my feet. Then the disciples of the street they all burst in through open doors and the creaking of the chairs and the running down the stairs. Pure ecstasy.

I had a dream that James Dean was alive and well today, looking for a quiet life, working for Irish Rail and in my father's clothes with a bloody nose I sang isn't it to sweat. By the slot machine there's James Dean out cold beneath my feet. Then the disciples of the street you all burst in through open doors and the creaking of the chairs and thhe running down the stairs, pure ecstasy.

I had a dream that James Dean was alive and well today.
Working for Irish Rail.

The circus master smiles pointing his finger at the mime. I hear the distant call of a boy named Paul who was taken before his time and all the precious stones or the mongrels bone won't entice me you silly child.
You just run on home for your teas gone cold and your mother cursed you blind. Then the backdoor man feels wrong for switching off when signing on and the double jointed thief wins an award for pure Indecency.

Copyright: Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Writer(s): David Kennan