1. |
The King Is Dead
02:56
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You can think the Earth is flat if you want to
It really don't make no difference to me
Flat or round, we're still on the ground
With the clouds above our heads
And the King, the King is dead
Perhaps on the Moon we never landed
Maybe it really is made of cheese
Well I don't care, it's still way up there
It always appears before bed
And the King, the King is dead
John F. Kennedy took a magic bullet
Who pulled the trigger, well I don't know
On the grassy knoll, ask not for whom the bell tolls
It's dangerous to pull on that thread
And the King, the King is dead
If you head out to Las Vegas
In the desert an alien you might see
But back on the strip there's a guy curling his lip
Saying "with these rings I do wed"
And the King, the King is dead
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2. |
Oh, Sylvia
02:36
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Hanging around the Chelsea Hotel
That summer you worked at Mademoiselle
Hoping to meet that infamous Welshman
The poet you loved more than life itself
And perhaps it was true, cos not long after
You crawled into the earth flirting with disaster
Sleeping pills along the garden path
You didn’t do it by half, Sylvia Plath
You didn’t do it by half, oh Sylvia
You had electroshock therapy the same year
That the Rosenbergs went to the electric chair
Doctors tried to free you from your bell jar
And wounds may heal but still they scar
Then you met the man with a voice like thunder
He saw through the illusions you’d been under
Razor blades and a lukewarm bath
You didn’t do it by half, Sylvia Plath
You didn’t do it by half, oh Sylvia
Finding yourself in Saratoga Springs
You fell in love to the hum of bumblebee wings
But neither love nor poetry could save you
From the cruel propensity that God gave you
From Boston, Massachusetts to Newham College
Sat at a ouija board testing human knowledge
Sealed off the kitchen, turned up the gas
You didn’t do it by half, Sylvia Plath
You didn’t do it by half, oh Sylvia
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3. |
Tom Waits For No Man
03:02
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A gin-soaked baby born in a Pomona parking lot
Trouble braided on his brow and trouble is what they got
When the full moon rose he went howling like a wolf
With a satchel in his mouth and parchment under hoof
A deranged stranger in Lala Land
You should know by now, Tom waits for no man
Then one fateful day the circus came to town
He flimflammed the gypsies dressed as a minstrel clown
Corrupted all the children, set the whole shebang aflame
Stole a stuffed Chihuahua and a carved flamingo cane
A deranged stranger in Lala Land
You should know by now, Tom waits for no man
He hitched across the desert, caught a lift with Kerouac
In a burnt-out jalopy, Bertolt Brecht was in the back
He said the holy grail was in a Pawtucket pawn shop
Once owned by Crystal Gale then loaned to Iggy Pop
A deranged stranger in Lala Land
You should know by now, Tom waits for no man
They pulled up into state on a dusty yellow noon
Drinking horses blood from a cherry red bassoon
And when Jesus drove through in a bright pink Cadillac
He knew that he was safer with the devil on his back
A deranged stranger in Lala Land
You should know by now, Tom waits for no man
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4. |
Miss Monroe
03:04
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In ‘62, August 5th
She died aged thirty-six
With a bluebird’s lonely song
Suicide is what they said
Not the Mafia, not the Feds
And JFK was not the one
We want to know, Miss Monroe
Do blondes have more fun
She grew up in foster care
And at twenty they said "dye your hair
If you want to be someone"
She gave her body, got the part
An hourglass, broken heart
A pretty face but not so dumb
We want to know, Miss Monroe
Do blondes have more fun
Shotgun wedding at just sixteen
Back when she was Norma Jeane
Married and divorced, oh so young
But she rose, got her star
On the Hollywood Boulevard
Beneath the California sun
We want to know, Miss Monroe
Do blondes have more fun
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5. |
Hemingway Or The Highway
03:27
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Born in Oak Park, Illinois in 1899
The Papa of American letters, he could sure lay down a line
His style has been much imitated, never bettered to this day
And if you disagree I’m sorry, it’s Hemingway or the highway
He worked for the Kansas City Star as a reporter in his youth
And on the front line in the Great War he gave first aid to troops
Received a medallion from the Italians, awarded to the brave
And if you don’t believe me honey, it’s Hemingway or the highway
Lunching at Luchows one day the enduring myth was born
That he wrote this six word story; for sale: babies shoes, never worn
Perhaps it’s purely fantasy, maybe it’s just hearsay
But if you don’t believe it baby, it’s Hemingway or the highway
He said to be a writer there is not much that you need
Just sit at a Corona with a glass of gin and bleed
And if you ever get stuck then one true sentence will light the flame
And if you cannot write a word, it’s Hemingway or the highway
From Paris to Pamplona, from Key West to the Gulf Stream
From the bars of Havana to the green hills of the Serengeti
From the savagery of war to the heights of literary fame
And if you doubt he did it all, it’s Hemingway or the highway
Then on one bright July morning in Ketchum, Idaho
He followed in his father’s footsteps, the way he said he’d go
Took out his favourite twelve-gauge, put a bullet through his brain
And if you think that way out is easy, it’s Hemingway or the highway
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6. |
Lay Lady Day
02:14
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Handcuffed to a hospital cot
Seventy cents is all you’ve got
To show for the mastery of your art
It’s not your spirit that’s broken, but your heart
It’s not easy to see you there
Pale as the gardenia in your hair
Your voice once in its own class, now so spare
A muted brass on the solemn air
Oh, my lover let’s not pretend
That this is anything other than the end
Oh, my lover thou shalt be saved
Rest your weary head, lay Lady Day
Cotton sheets on satin skin
Doctors say alert your next of kin
The right track is much farther than you think
When you’d rather do a dance with the demon drink
Oh, my lover let’s not pretend
That this is anything other than the end
Oh, my lover thou shalt be saved
Rest your weary head, lay Lady Day
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7. |
You & Camus
02:37
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You’re existential, he was a Pied-Noir
You’re a bit nouvelle vague, he was the Bogart
Of French literature and philosophy
And a goalkeeper too, you & Camus
Mother died today, or maybe yesterday
After those first words you opened your heart
To his gentle indifferent universe
And absurdist world view, you & Camus
He said the only question was that of suicide
And maybe you’d been there yourself a few times
But just like Sisyphus you climb mountains
And smile at the view, you & Camus
In 1960 he died in a car crash
With a train ticket in his coat
And so you still shed a tear each January 4th
And bid him adieu, you & Camus
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8. |
The Music He Makes
03:51
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When he was very young music spoke to him
From John Denver to Led Zeppelin
Just a backwoods Ohio boy with a guitar on his knee
Now the music he makes speaks to me
He headed out west seeking fortune and fame
But none of the rock journalists could pronounce his name
Until he signed a contract with Ivo-Watts and 4AD
Now the music he makes speaks to me
Some people love him, while others just can’t relate
To his songs about kitty cats or the first time that he got laid
Well songwriters are liars, but there are those with integrity
And the music he makes speaks to me
I’ll never forget the first time I heard him sing
The whole room fell so silent you could hear the drop of a pin
Afterwards I shook his hand and he signed my merch stand CD
The music he makes speaks to me
He’s a pugilist poet, a brawler with a guitar case
Tattered notebook in his hand and a frown etched on his face
As a young man he courted women, and now he courts controversy
But the music he makes speaks to me
So thank you thank you thank you for picking up a pen
For writing the words you write and for singing them
For getting up on stage in far away towns and strange cities
Because the music you make speaks to me
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9. |
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Paris in spring
What a wonderful thing
I never met anyone quite as forgiving
In the seventy-four years that I've been living
Oh, au revoir
Simone de Beauvoir
Arguing in the university park
Maybe you felt
That you were not in my class
The truth is you were so much better by far
Oh, au revoir
Simone de Beauvoir
Thinking about our time
At the Sorbonne
Did I really believe that I was a Don Juan
Multiple lovers but you were always the one
Oh, au revoir
Simone de Beauvoir
The contract we signed
Has been on my mind
Second to none, you were one of a kind
My time is at hand and your hand is in mine
Oh, au revoir
Simone de Beauvoir
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10. |
On The Townes Tonight
02:38
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Watching True Detective in your bedroom, baby
With ginger cake and sparkling wine
And as the credits roll a familiar tune starts playing
And you held my hand so tight
We’re on the Townes tonight
He was born into influence and riches
But lived in trailer parks for most of his life
Playing dive bars for ten bucks and a jar of whisky
Singing “waiting around to die”
We’re on the Townes tonight
So let’s dance on Bob Dylan’s coffee table
Wear your favourite cowboy boots and I’ll wear mine
From the Texas plains to the mountains of Colorado
Counting stars on the Nashville skyline
We’re on the Townes tonight
You rendered him in wool and wire and stitches
Had a few beers and had yourselves a time
But the road’s his home so he went a-ramblin’
The cowboy poet wrote his last line
We’re on the Townes tonight
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11. |
Oh, Sylvia (Demo)
02:31
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12. |
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13. |
Miss Monroe (Demo)
02:51
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14. |
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15. |
Lay Lady Day (Demo)
02:07
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16. |
You & Camus (Demo)
02:33
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Jay Fynn UK
Lo-Fi Indie Folk Singer Songwriter
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