MISSION CREEP Let’s get rid of that old dictator What happens then, we’ll work out later. They got no civil society Got no desire for democracy They don’t hail us as the liberator They’d prefer a new dictator. Looks as if we’ll have to be here For at least another three year. Mission creep, mission creep Best beware of the mission creep. It will fill your waking hours and it will wreck your sleep Cause the mission’s never over When you’ve got the mission creep. Here she comes, she’s on a mission No point stating your position She is not programmed to listen She requires complete submission. Whatever bee is in her bonnet She wants your agreement on it. She’ll get angry, she’ll get weepy. Pretty scary, pretty creepy. Mission creep, mission creep Best beware of the mission creep. She will fill your in-box till it falls down in a heap. You might as well surrender When you meet a mission creep. Missions in doubt, And missions that shout, And missions devout Creep me out. (Rpt) Let’s convert those heathen tribals What those natives need is bibles. Get some valuable cash crops on Make their women put some tops on. Make ‘em fear God and the Devil. Let’s send out young Reverend Neville Though he’s a little creepy, is’n’he Makes the young boys sit on his knee. Mission creep, mission creep Best beware of the mission creep. For no land is so innocent, no forest is so deep That cannot be corrupted By a little Mission creep. For no land is so innocent, no forest is so deep That cannot be corrupted By a little Mission creep.

THE COSMIC COMMODORE A song of L. Ron Hubbard’s Scientology Sea Org. We were going to clear the planet, And then we’d clear the galaxy. It would take a hundred life-times, But I said that was fine by me. I’d signed-up for a billion years. Hell, you know I would have signed for more. I was off to find adventure with the Cosmic Commodore. Cruising with the Cosmic Commodore. Would this old liner ever find a shore? We were a Ship of Fools Half a prison, half a school And only there to serve The Cosmic Commodore. He had enemies, he said, And they were always plotting his disgrace. That is why he stayed at sea And always moving on from place to place. His enemies were psychiatrists, And Beings from Outer Space. We were refugees, he told us, From a great galactic war. We believed the crazy bastard, ‘Cause we loved our Commodore. Cruising with the Cosmic Commodore, A pirate ship, acknowledging no law, Half a corporate HQ Half a monastery, with you... As our Holy Father And our Commodore. He’d scream with rage at us, And if you’d heard him you’d agree That the Saviour of the Planet was a world-class S.O.B. I had to leave, but still it took me years to find the door And then I’m damned if I still didn’t love My Cosmic Commodore.... His Spiritual Technology, Well it was frankly very hit-or-miss. It might leave you on a high, Or leave you peering into the abyss.. But if you said you had some doubts, This meant that you were rotten to the core. It was ‘My way or the highway’ with the Cosmic Commodore. Cruising with the Cosmic Commodore, I tell you we were ragged, we were poor. We lived on corn beef hash While the millions in cash That the cult brought in, were trouser’d by Our crafty, crafty Commodore. Cruising with the Cosmic Commodore, Was he a God or just a man of straw? You can say we were naïve But we wanted to believe In a super-human Cosmic Commodore.

THE TRICK OF THE LOCK Your life lies on a knife edge, boy. Might seem stable day to day, But that status quo’s unsteady, Things could still go either way. It’s not the big things do you in, Or bring you your success. It’s the Little Things that lead you To the good stuff or the mess. It’s the key to the code. It’s the map of the road. It’s the list of what’s owed. It’s that stuff you download. It’s your knack with a frock. It’s the price of the stock. It’s your hour in the dock. It’s the Trick of the Lock... The Gods play games of chance with us, They shake us out like dice. And you’ll get on good terms with the Gods If you take my advice. The stakes are trivial, it’s true, And can be easily ignored, But give those Little Things some time And you’ll know how you scored. It’s the word to the wise. It’s the tissue of lies. It’s the eyes on the prize. It’s the check of the flies It’s the luck of the draw. It’s the fortunes of war. It’s that thing that you saw. It’s that smack on the jaw. It’s the key to the code. It’s the map of the road. It’s the list of what’s owed. It’s that stuff you download. It’s your knack with a frock. It’s the price of the stock. It’s your hour in the dock. It’s the Trick of the Lock... Life is just a gamble, boy, However firm you stand. The cards will still get dealt And you will have to play the hand. And it’s these Little Things that go wrong, Little Things that you do well, That will set your course to heaven Or will steer you off to hell. It’s that word that you said. It’s the line that you read, That idea in your head, That disaster in bed. It’s the train that you missed. It’s the person you kissed. It’s the clench of the fist, That tattoo on your wrist. It’s the word to the wise. It’s the tissue of lies. It’s the eyes on the prize. It’s the check of the flies It’s the luck of the draw. It’s the fortunes of war. It’s that thing that you saw. It’s that smack on the jaw. It’s the key to the code. It’s the map of the road. It’s the list of what’s owed. It’s that stuff you download. It’s your knack with a frock. It’s the price of the stock. It’s your hour in the dock. It’s the Trick of the Lock...

MERCURY The angel that spins closest to the sun The winged-heeled Messenger, just watch him run The outlaw God of chariots and thieves An unattached pretender who deceives He flourishes his winged Caduceus staff And turns to laugh Before he leaves Roast the cinnabar Don’t breathe the poison smoke And see the shining snake emerge Heavy and gleaming Potent in Metalurgy The dancing liquid shape-shifter Gold finder, gold eater Quicksilver And they called it Mercury. Make the furnace warm Observe the crystal flask Add silver-water, and watch them seethe, Red King and White Queen Potent in Alchemy Dances with salt, dances with sulphur Transformer, transmuter Of the Chemical Marriage And they called it Mercury They called it Mercury. The angel that spins closest to the sun The winged-heeled Messenger, just watch him run The outlaw God of motor-bikes and thieves An unattached pretender who deceives He flourishes his winged Caduceus staff And turns to laugh Before he leaves Cast the horoscope Conjunction, sextile, trine The planet of the spoken word Of travel and commerce Potent in Astrology The ruler of the Third House of Gemini Exalted in Virgo Planet of Wednesday And they called it Mercury Rock the microphone Release the giant voice And find the tightest harmonies To seize the stadium Potent in the Melody Stage monarch of outrageousness Hilarious extravagance Just a star-and-a-half And they called him Mercury They called him Mercury The angel that spins closest to the sun The winged-heeled Messenger, just watch him run The outlaw God of radios and thieves An unattached pretender who deceives He flourishes his winged Caduceus staff And turns to laugh Before he leaves.

SKIN IN THE GAME Just one more fight his trainer said Just ten rounds and a very handsome purse The boxer knows his eyes aren’t good The boxer knows his mem’ry’s getting worse. And by god, he needs the money He has to take the money But he knows, of course, that he should quit the Ring. ‘Cause a half-blind, punchy welterweight Is not much good for anything. He has skin in the game Skin in the game, Old leather scar-tissue skin in the game... Skin in the game He has skin in the game, Old leather scar-tissue skin in the game... Sam’s going to sell the contract short A hundred thousand tons of soya beans The date for settlement’s coming fast The emerald numbers flicker down the screens. And by god, he needs the money He really needs the money ‘Cos he bled his Client Accounts and broke the law. And he has to make this killing now Or they will send him down for sure. He has skin in the game Skin in the game, Unhealthy white sweaty skin in the game... Skin in the game He has skin in the game, Unhealthy white sweaty skin in the game... When doubling down Brings an anxious frown, When betting the farm Is a cause for alarm, When playing for keeps Means nobody sleeps, When double or quits Gives them shivering fits, When going for broke Is making them choke, When they’re playing to win Or else it’s their skin, They have skin in the game Skin in the game, Desperate last chance skin in the game... Skin in the game, They have skin in the game Desperate last chance skin in the game... I’ve got a job for you, he said They’re gonna love you, dear, in Budapest It’s nothing you’ve not done before Just smile and serve the drinks and all the rest. And god, she needs the money She really needs the money But does he want a hostess or a whore? Should she take the risk, because she knows Girls who’ve been tricked like this before. She has skin in the game Skin in the game, Perfect golden teenage skin in the game... Skin in the game, She has skin in the game Perfect golden teenage skin in the game... When doubling down Brings an anxious frown, When betting the farm Is a cause for alarm, When playing for keeps Means nobody sleeps, When double or quits Gives them shivering fits, When going for broke Is making them choke, When they’re playing to win Or else it’s their skin, They have skin in the game Skin in the game, Desperate last chance skin in the game... Skin in the game, They have skin in the game Desperate Last chance Skin in the game...

NOTHING TO SEE HERE There Justice stands, and she’s blindfold. This means she’ll be fair, or so I’m told. But when that Town Councillor Bought a big house In Highbury. It was paid for in cash from Planning Committee bribery. So, Blind Lady, what do you have to say? That doesn’t sound okay. But it seems the evidence was just hearsay. So nothing to see here, please move along. Nothing to see here, please move along. Nothing to see here, please move along. Nothing to see, Nothing to see here, please move along. Her sword is sharp, and it’s trusty, But the scales of Justice look rusty. A poor little filing clerk is molested by her employer. “Dressing like that, she was just asking for it,” protests his lawyer. So, Blind Lady, what do you have to say? That doesn’t sound okay. No one saw him do it, so he walks away. So nothing to see here, please move along. Nothing to see here, please move along. Nothing to see here, please move along. Nothing to see, Nothing to see here, please move along. There Justice stands, and she’s blindfold. She can’t be bought, she can’t be sold But when the corrupt play it smart, and the strong oppress the weak, Why can’t she pull that thing down just a bit, and take a peek? Then perhaps we won’t have to hear them say What we hear every day When they would prefer it if we went away, There’s nothing to see here, please move along. Nothing to see here, please move along. Nothing to see, Nothing to see here, please move along. There’s nothing to see here, please move along. Nothing to see here, please move along. Nothing to see. Nothing to see here, please move along.

HERE’S THE THING The church bells ring, a happy sound, But if you stand close by, Their music isn’t sweet; these bells punch holes into the sky. Close to a bell, it roars, it doesn’t ring. The beaten metal screams, it doesn’t sing. The clappers lay on hard as if They’re punishing their squad, Their team of six great bronze throats Bellowing their praise to God. I’d like to be that dominant and proud, And part of something so insanely loud, At home in such an ear-splitting crowd, But here’s the thing... But here’s the thing... Say if that was true Would I be the bell, The clapper... Or the ring. The painted marionettes are here, It’s such a pretty show, The clever hands above, the dainty dancing dolls below. Each arm and leg with its controlling cord, But in a while the strings can be ignored. The little dramas they enact Become entirely real. The painted sticks are living creatures who can think and feel. The play is done, we leave, but as I go, I feel I’m living in a puppet show. That thought is not original, I know. But here’s the thing... But here’s the thing... Say if that was true Would I be the hand, The puppet... Or the string. Now Vincent Price is dumping Nuclear waste into the lake, And Tyrone Power, the hero’s, had as much as he can take. The film is black and white and rather old. Our hero haunts the lakeside, dark and cold, ‘Cause he’s convinced a radioactive Monster lurks down there. A hideous, mutant Thing with slimy teeth and matted hair. This movie’s in my head as memory. As such it has become a part of me, A little bit of my identity, But here’s the thing... But here’s the thing... Say if that was true Is that bit the crook, The hero... Or the Thing? And here’s the thing... Here’s the Thing... Here is the Thing...

BEST BEFORE It’s Mexican Week at the supermarket The Day of the Dead is drawing near. And the sugar skeletons of Madam Death Should be consumed before July next year. ‘Cos like everything in this giant store They have a date by which they’re Best Before. I’m not so scared as I was yesterday Of cataclysmic Flood, Starvation, Pestilence and War I’m over-optimistic; things will be okay. I’ve reached the date by which I’m Best Before. I see a lovely woman now and find No longer do I imagine rolling with her on the floor. Or fantasise that I am patting her behind. I’ve reached the date by which I’m Best Before. It’s Mexican Week at the supermarket Their Day of the Dead’s a jamboree But the painted skulls Contain Small Parts Unsuitable for children under three And like everything in this giant store They have a date by which they’re Best Before. I must confess I do go on a bit. I’m sure my friends will tell you I’ve become a crashing bore, But let me tell you how I almost wrote a hit. I’ve reached the date by which I’m Best Before. I s’pose that I should really act my age And not keep trying to chase artistic rainbows any more. They’re throwing eggs but I don’t want to leave the stage. I’ve reached the date by which I’m Best Before. It’s Mexican Week at the supermarket They have novelty coffins in luminous green And without the little plastic sombrero hats They’re the same ones that they sell for Halloween. And like everything in this giant store They have a date by which they’re Best Before. I’m sorry but I can’t recall your name Or what that little button on the telephone is for. It’s not my fault, I’m sure the Government is to blame. I’ve reached the date by which I’m Best Before. And now sweet Santa Muerte’s on her way The skinny, fatal angel’s tapping softly at the door. ‘Vamos, Signor,’ she whispers. ‘Vamos andalay’ You’ve reached the date by which you’re Best Before’.

THE LITTLE FLOWER The Gardener was young and strong His wild garden lay beneath an ancient sky And in a corner, thick with weeds A tiny flower caught the Gardener’s eye. He nurtured it with tender care The flower grew and blossomed prettily ‘This plant deserves a name’, he said And so he called the little flower ‘Democracy’. A tender shoot A fragile root And gardeners everywhere agree It takes a lot of time and care If you want to grow ‘Democracy’. Of modest habit, slow to grow You could not say this was a flower of high degree But of the flowers that they saw Most people there preferred ‘Democracy’. And people took their cuttings home And some of these grew well and multiplied But it’s a fussy little plant And many cuttings simply shrivelled-up and died. A tender shoot A fragile root But gardeners everywhere agree It has its faults, but it’s still good The little flower they call ‘Democracy’. We got so used to seeing it growing there We didn’t see the flower needed care. We looked the other way, and chose to stare At other flowers. For there were many other plants And they were rampant and as wild as anything And some of them had sweet perfume And others were designed to tear and sting And some had red and luscious fruits That looked so ripe and soft and juicy-sweet But millions of poor devils know Those tempting fruits are deadly poisonous to eat. A tender shoot A fragile root And gardeners everywhere agree There’s many plants you should avoid If you want to grow ‘Democracy’. The Gardener grew old and tired I do not think that he was in the best of health. He said ‘The Garden is mature And surely it can take care of itself’. The weeds advance, the flower dies back And only sharp-eyed plant-lovers can see That bank of flowers is growing thin And day by day there’s less and less ‘Democracy’. And far-off countries heard strange anecdotes About the spectacle of honest votes And people crossed the sea in rubber boats To find what’s left of the little flower. A tender shoot A fragile root And gardeners everywhere agree Best cultivate that garden now Or lose the flower they call ‘Democracy’.

IT’S ANOTHER DAY Another day Our masters make excuses, They make a bold retreat A new defeat They’ll soon explain away. Another day Another realization Their wonderful ideas Were just a way of hiding from their fears Of another day. Another day, Another short dictator Who postures on the News And gives his views On how he’ll make us pay. Another day Of carnage, blood and slaughter. He does it ‘cause he can, Makes him feel a man And keeps the ghosts away For another day. The world will keep spinning Whatever they do. Time won’t stop for them Like it won’t stop for you The new day will come And a change in the air The sun in the morning Says do not despair. It’s another day, A brand-new bright tomorrow, A clean slate, a new leaf, Another brief extension on the lease. Another day, Another Book of Hours The page all snowy white On which to write A liturgy to read Another day. Another day, The game will all be different. A new hand spins the wheel, Another dealer Gives us better cards. Another day The day after tomorrow, And then another one, And then there comes Guess what? Surprise, surprise, another day, Another day, Another day… The world will keep spinning Whatever they do. Time won’t stop for them Like it won’t stop for you The new day will come And a change in the air The sun in the morning Says do not despair, It’s another day. Another day, Another day…