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| Pete Atkin sings
Payday Evening by Clive James and Pete Atkin, [Much more at www.peteatkin.com] |
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Of late I try to kill my payday evenings In many an unrecommended spot Curiosity accounting for a little Loneliness accounting for a lot The girls who pull the handles force their laughter The casual conversation's not the best Indifference accounting for a little Unhappiness accounting for the rest And the gardens of the heyday in Versailles And Pompadour's theatre in the stairs Should be created in my magic eye From a jukebox and a stack of canvas chairs But somehow we have failed to come through The styles are gone to seed, no more parades There seems to be no talk of me and you No breath of scandal in these sad arcades Concerning us there are no fables No brilliant poems airily discarded Just liquid circles on formica tables A silence perhaps too closely guarded Outside a junkie tries to sell his girl Her face has just begun to come apart Look hard and you can see the edges curl Speed has got her beaten at the start And what care these two for a broken heart? The lady's calling Time and she is right My time has come to find a better way A surer way to navigate at night The poetic age has had its day In midnight voices softer than a dove's We shall talk superbly of our lost loves | |||||
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