NOTHING MUCH MATTERS I’ve looked for answers in some strange old places I’ve looked for signs of wisdom in alien faces I found an old priest in the Middle East Must have been a hundred years old at least I said to him ‘How should I behave So I don’t lie in a dishonourable grave? And how do I avoid Hell and Satan’s clutch? He just said “Oi! Don’t you worry, boy, Cos nothing much matters And what matters doesn’t matter much.” I went and visited this Oxford college The Department of Existential Knowledge I found me a Professor as grand as he could be. And I said “Hey man, you gotta level with me, What’s the right thing for a man to do When the world’s adrift and the world’s askew And don’t give me no philosophical double-dutch...” He said “Now you keep this quiet Or you could start a riot But nothing much matters And what matters doesn’t matter much.” Nothing Much Matters Nothing Much Matters Nothing Much Matters Nothing Much Matters And What Matters Doesn’t Matter Much. I talk to Dead People from time to time, You think I’m crazy, I think I’m fine I was at this séance, and before our eyes We see this beautiful Angel materialise, So I ask her, going down on my knees Would you give me some Heavenly guidance, please, Cause I’m troubled about ethics and morality and such. She sighed “Don’t be shocked, my dear But the word up here Is that nothing much matters And what matters doesn’t matter much.” Nothing Much Matters Nothing Much Matters Nothing Much Matters Nothing Much Matters And What Matters Doesn’t Matter Much.

NOTHING MUCH MATTERS I’ve looked for answers in some strange old places I’ve looked for signs of wisdom in alien faces I found an old priest in the Middle East Must have been a hundred years old at least I said to him ‘How should I behave So I don’t lie in a dishonourable grave? And how do I avoid Hell and Satan’s clutch? He just said “Oi! Don’t you worry, boy, Cos nothing much matters And what matters doesn’t matter much.” I went and visited this Oxford college The Department of Existential Knowledge I found me a Professor as grand as he could be. And I said “Hey man, you gotta level with me, What’s the right thing for a man to do When the world’s adrift and the world’s askew And don’t give me no philosophical double-dutch...” He said “Now you keep this quiet Or you could start a riot But nothing much matters And what matters doesn’t matter much.” Nothing Much Matters Nothing Much Matters Nothing Much Matters Nothing Much Matters And What Matters Doesn’t Matter Much. I talk to Dead People from time to time, You think I’m crazy, I think I’m fine I was at this séance, and before our eyes We see this beautiful Angel materialise, So I ask her, going down on my knees Would you give me some Heavenly guidance, please, Cause I’m troubled about ethics and morality and such. She sighed “Don’t be shocked, my dear But the word up here Is that nothing much matters And what matters doesn’t matter much.” Nothing Much Matters Nothing Much Matters Nothing Much Matters Nothing Much Matters And What Matters Doesn’t Matter Much.

THE CIRCULAR GROOVE They had a music - but it wouldn’t stay. You couldn’t call it back to hear another day. Recordings - were for symphonies And operas and cantatas, and for things like these. ‘Till one man said ‘There’s something in Jazz That the public at large might approve...’ So the needle vibrated in Amberol wax, And the sounds of the cornet, the banjo and sax Were pulled down behind it and trapped in its tracks As it chiselled a Circular Groove The sounds of a hundred, hot, bordello nights, The sounds that accompanied speakeasy fights, Music played by the Blacks and adored by the Whites, And it came on a Circular Groove, A fragile, black, Circular Groove. Then we had a music - that was all guitars, And drumbeats that were loud enough to shake the stars. We had heroes - Oh, the songs they sung. It was so sad, so many of them died so young. And the music reached magical heights With a sound that could not be improved... But it was often played by complete psychological wrecks, As accountants embezzled their royalty cheques, But you heard all the booze and the drugs and the sex As it flowed in the Circular Groove, The fabulous Circular Groove. My friends and I - said, ‘That’s what we’ll do.’ The record companies said, ‘Kindly form a queue.’ They hadn’t got a clue - about what bands to choose, So they signed every spotty Herbert who could play a blues. But we all of us gave our best shot, ‘Cause we felt we had something to prove. They recorded our songs onto reels of rust, That’s the sort of technology someone can trust, And the girls thought that going with us was a must, ‘Cause we’d sung on a Circular Groove. And some of us tried to be Beatles or Stones, And some of us tried for a sound of our own, But we all wanted Tony Visconti to phone To invite us to lay down a Groove, A Number One Circular Groove. Some guy from Marketing - said, ‘Digitise.’ They thought that they were smart, but they were most unwise. The master-plan - of those greedy men Was to make us buy our music all over again. But they could have had no idea Just how fast I.T. science would move... And a digital file is a treacherous beast. It will breed like a germ, and there isn’t the least You can do about it, once the thing is released. Wish they'd stuck with the Circular Groove, And what kid is going to buy my CD, He can download the music that’s on it for free, And this might well suit him, but it doesn’t suit me. Wish they’d stuck to the Circular Groove, Better off with the Circular Groove. And now we’re going to play a little Circular Groove.

BEEN ALONE SO LONG Been alone so long That I’ve forgotten what it’s like To feel somebody next to me And hear her breathing peacefully When I wake-up at night, Wake-up at night. Been alone so long That I’ve forgotten what to say. If I meet somebody who Might easily resemble you, I smile and look away, I look away. Been alone so long That I’ve forgotten what to do, How to make the whole thing right, And how to help if she’s uptight, And when to run and when to fight, And how to make her stay the night, That’s if I ever knew, If I ever knew. Been alone so long That I’ve forgotten what it’s like To feel somebody next to me And hear her breathing peacefully When I wake-up at night, Wake-up at night.

OLDTHINKER UNBELLYFEEL Much of our knowledge-base isn’t exactly robust. Lots of the things we know, we have just taken on trust. I’ve never seen South America with my own eyes. How do I know that it’s real and it isn’t all lies? In the secret studios Where all the fake news grows O’Brian proudly shows How this thing goes... Watching the news, I’m aware of a curious stink, Smells like it’s something the government wants me to think. Some of their speakers appear to believe it’s a fact And some of them know it’s a lie, and they’re in on the act. But their eyes disclose It’s in the words they chose And that O’Brian, he knows And it shows! They know the best way to cook up a dish of deceit Making the thing irresistibly spicy and sweet. Millions of people surrender and swallow the swill You can do that If you like but I don’t think I will. O’Brian tries to seal the deal But Oldthinker Unbellyfeel.... O’Brian frowns, he’s understood Oldthinker Doubleplus Ungood... O’Brian ponders then decides Oldthinker to be Vaporised... Something is coming up strongly on my Twitter feed. Is it just garbage or something that I should believe? How do I know if it’s lies? Or whether it’s right Nothing to go on but something they call second sight. We beg his propaganda teams To drop their misinformation schemes But O’Brian screams ‘In your dreams!’ Did a man land on the moon, or was I misled? How do we know Elvis Presley is actually dead? Crypto-conspiracies certainly mess with your mind. Maybe it’s better for us to be wilfully blind. O’Brian tries to seal the deal But Oldthinker Unbellyfeel.... O’Brian frowns, he’s understood Oldthinker Doubleplus Ungood... O’Brian ponders then decides Oldthinker to be Vaporised... Did a man land on the moon, or was I misled? How do we know Elvis Presley is actually dead? Crypto-conspiracies certainly mess with your mind. Maybe it’s better for us to be wilfully blind.

SCREECHING U-TURNS He’s proud Played loud For the crowd at the Hope and Anchor Then he got fat And that was that That hepcat’s now a merchant banker And Hippy Jim A little bit dim Big grin and a head that’s empty Girl Marge Took charge Now he’s living large as a Tory MP Ooo Ooooo People always do the things we least expect These screeching U-turns all deserve respect I know that I have made a few It’s true. And you? You too? Ooo Ooooo Three cheers for changes of direction, mine or yours. These screeching U-turns all deserve applause And if your friends think you’ve gone mad, That’s sad, a tad, but too bad. So shy Oh my Sweep as pie ‘cause that’s what they wanted Family Can’t see Why she always looks so haunted One day Runs away Decides she’s gay and that was the answer Hair’s blue Big tattoo Does the boogaloo as a topless dancer. (Chorus) Ooo Ooooo People always do the things we least expect (etc.) Dr Fry Science guy Denying God keeps him busy. All belief Gives him grief Makes Dawkins look like a sissy. Well he’s making toast When he sees a ghost Now most of you can see where this is leading. He goes all weird Plaits his beard Now he’s giving Tarot readings. (Chorus) Ooo Ooooo People always do the things we least expect (etc.) Here’s a twist This pacifist Deploring all kinds of violence Joins a gym And it gets to him Now he’s getting a cage-fighting licence. And Mr King So right wing Thinks immigration’s a disaster Meets Shirl Jamaican girl Now they call him the old White Rasta. (Chorus) Ooo Ooooo People always do the things we least expect (etc.)

FIGHTING THE LONG DEFEAT We were small, but we were fierce, We had arrows that could pierce Through any beast or man we hunted in the wood. That primeval forest wide That covered England, side to side, Where we traded furs and metals when we could. Feathers and beads in our hair And our swords were made of iron. Feathers and beads in our hair And not one of us was aware... We were fighting the Long Defeat Fighting the Long Defeat Beating a slow retreat Fighting the Long Defeat... The new tribes came in from the East, Had no Druids, just a Priest. They were tall and blond, and seemed a little slow. But they cleared land for their farms And we watched with growing alarm As their territory and numbers grew and grew They pushed us West - Always West We stood and fought, but had to give them best. West was where our sun would set, The marshes of Wales and Somerset. Our backs were to the sea, the disaster was complete.... We were fighting the Long Defeat Fighting the Long Defeat Beating a slow retreat Fighting the Long Defeat... We were starlight, we were golden, And we would not be beholden To the world that our parents had created. We made no apology, We’d be Hippies, proud and free. We were far-out, we were cool and liberated. Feathers and beads in our hair And our guitars were Sunburst Gold. Feathers and beads in our hair And not one of us was aware... We were fighting the Long Defeat Fighting the Long Defeat Beating a slow retreat Fighting the Long Defeat... We had a few good years Before the Punks appeared. We retreated, didn’t fancy getting battered. And then, mortgages akimbo, Riding Volvos into Limbo, Came the Yuppies, crying only money mattered. They pushed us West - Always West. They bought our communes, which they promptly repossessed. West was where our sun would set, San Francisco or Somerset. The Eighties rolled right over us; our thing died on its feet... We were fighting the Long Defeat Fighting the Long Defeat Making the slow retreat Fighting the Long Defeat...

TOWERS OPEN FIRE I once saw Jim Morrison perform; he was never the Lizard King He was far too pretty and vulnerable to be such a reptilian thing The real Lizard King was a writer with a typewriter of fire Relentless curiosity, unquenchable desire. ‘Kill the language virus’, he said, ‘Towers open fire!’ The Beats are in the Beat Hotel and leading shabby lives There’s petty crime and heroin and rent boys, guns and knives The squares don’t dig this crazy scene, man, But needs must when the devil drives. They’re cutting-up their poetry, they’re cutting-up their prose They’re making-out with Arab boys; well, that’s the way it goes. And see that pile of empty morphine ampoules, How it grows and grows and grows. Now William’s got his pistols out, a terrifying sight; Skeletal in his banker’s suit, a face of deathly white. He’s gonna shoot them big black automatics And he’s gonna shoot ‘em right. Young men overdose See the boys expire Even William would confess Trying to change your consciousness Can get you in a real mess Can get you in a real mess ‘But nothing succeeds like excess’, Towers Open Fire! William’s packed his valise and he’s traveling down to hell But he comes back, repeatedly, and he has tales to tell. He tells his hellish stories right, So we don’t have to make that dreadful trip as well. He’s got the whole of Western civilization in his sights. The great American post-war Dream; he’s got that bang to rights He’s waging total war on all Of those controlling mental Parasites. Would we have had the Sixties, and the Beatles and the Stones Without the Lizard King, without that drug-crazed bag of bones? To shock and scare us out of All our safe and comfortable Interzones. The old celebrity He’s preaching to the choir. The hipsters call him Uncle Bill He lectures with an iron will He still has missions to fulfil He still has missions to fulfil ‘C’mon babe, you know the drill’ Towers Open Fire!

SO SURE I used to be so sure, So sure about what lay behind each door. I was convinced I really knew the score, And certain I could give the world what-for. I used to be so sure. I used to be so sure. I used to be so keen to take the floor, And have my say on matters by the score Just scoring points, and laying down the law. I must have been a bore. These days I’m on a different page, I feel reluctant to engage. Perhaps it’s simply down to age, Or am I going through a stage?... Oh, Lor! I used to be so sure. I used to be so sure. My politics were simply Total War, An imitation, cardboard carnivore And quite up for a bit of shock and awe. But I’m not anymore. I used to be so sure, But now I find that I am in rapport With Lefty wankers I used to deplore. In all my arguments, I see the flaw. So I tend to withdraw. These days I’m on a different page, I feel reluctant to engage. Perhaps it’s simply down to age, Or am I going through a stage?... Oh, Lor! I used to be so sure.

BRING IT ON I’m a leaf on the tree Winters’s coming for me Every leaf has to fall And I’m trying to make sense of it all Winter’s winter It’s neither bad nor good Can’t say that winter’s wrong or it’s right So how should a sane person feel? And how should we deal With the dying of the light? Dylan Thomas said ‘Rage’ Might look good on the page But I think that he was quite wrong I know a much wiser song... ‘Who wants to live forever?’ Freddy Mercury wanted to know. And so, I plan to just motor on Until my fuel’s gone And the engine won’t go. Bring it on! Day by day... Bring it on! It’s okay... Bring it on! Day by day... Bring it on! It’s okay... I’m a leaf on the tree Winter’s coming for me When that wind starts to blow When should that old leaf let go? I feel I’d lose face Getting blown into space Blown away by the first frosty breath Or worse, with all dignity gone Just hanging on Hanging on for grim death. These plans might all be in vain I might get hit by a train Life’s not determined by us I might fall under a bus. Bring it on! Day by day... Bring it on! It’s okay... Bring it on! Day by day... Bring it on! It’s okay...

THE DRIVE REMAINS Buttoned down in Batton Rouge Or ripped up on spiral winds Smoke and mirrors subterfuge When the lies stop the fun begins I’m hoping that you get my call Hoping that the drive remains The episode that we installed Your subconscious will retain Subconscious will retain I am here again I am here again To begin again Subconscious will retain I am here again To begin again You’ve got away with far too much We let it run for far too long Now your teeth have sunken in Now your grip is far too strong I’m hoping that you get my call I’m hoping that the faith’s well-placed The episode that we installed Will disappear without a trace Without a trace I am here again I am here again To begin again Will disappear without a trace I am here again To begin again Did you know If you lie too much your tongue explodes In your head? The episode has reached the scene With Olive strapped to the line Bluto sneering at the screen As the train runs down the line And Popeye’s in rehab now The spinach trip turned to shame Brakeman sleeping at the wheel And only the drive remains Only the drive remains I am here again I am here again To begin again Only the drive remains I am here again To begin again Did you know If you lie too much your tongue explodes In your head?