The Tilt of the Earth

LYRICS

All The Things You’ve Done

I’m not going to the early house, I just can’t take it any more
All the spit and the sawdust and the broken teeth and that bloody mess on the floor
I’m not going to the early house—into the arena of the ungodly and the shook
It all starts out with the badinage, but ends up in a donnybrook
It’s sunrise over yardarm, dry land disappearing from view
And all the things you’ve done will be waiting there for you

I’m not going to the early house, I’ve seen the souls who wind up there
Houdini, Specs and Shellshock Joe with the thousand pint of porter stare
All sorrows are less with bread, booze and a sleeper or two
And all the things you’ve done will be waiting there for you

Haul away boys, haul away, and all the things you’ve done will be waiting there for you

I’m not going to the early house, I know how it ends and the end will be grim
They’ll take you out the back to that weird pool room where they’ll tear you limb from limb
It’s nothing personal, buddy, they’ll say, as they beat you black and blue
And all the things you’ve done will be waiting there for you

Haul away boys, haul away, and all the things you’ve done will be waiting there for you

Cash for Gold

The polls were closed the clerks were heading for the boozer
The presiding officer packed away the red wax and the seal
Over at the count they were predicting killings
The tallymen licked the leads of their pencils with zeal
Word on the doorsteps was the anger had been palpable
They were all mad as hell—they weren’t going to take it anymore
On news of canvassers I’d gone to the mattresses
I hid in the kitchen when they called to the door

I’d sold my soul, got cash for gold
And found myself searching in the backs of drawers

I was on the move again in search of new lodgings
The town was full of landlords with the horn for rising rents
I’d dusted myself down practised spitting on my hand
Arguing the toss over shilling and cents

I’d sold my soul, got cash for gold
And found myself searching in the backs of drawers

The men who eat their dinner at midday are banging on your door
They’ve been standing there since time began
They’ll be standing there till time is no more, till time is no more

Over at the count the victor was raised aloft
Things are going to change, he said, we’re going to turn it around
I’d just moved in, I was unpacking my things
A neighbour dropped in and asked me to keep the noise down

I’d sold my soul, got cash for gold
And found myself searching in the backs of drawers

A Long Way Away

I drive the number 9 out to Charlestown,
I’ve seen it all and somehow lived to tell the tale
I know every hillock, bump and pothole
When the rock beneath us turns from schist to shale
Down along these ancient trackways
Through the sweat and the vomit brimming amongst the stones
Some people hate it—they can’t wait to leave,
Others they love it—it’s in their blood and in their bones
And all the filth and the begrudgery, it will all be a memory
When you’re a long way away

Back and forth we go like a force of nature
Like the changing of the seasons and the tilt of the Earth
On Monday morning there’s the grim commute
On Friday evening the ritual chasing of the skirt
And all the wanton piggery, it will all be a memory
When you’re a long way away

It’s murder down in the northbound bore
Along the quays and up on the shore
Any moment now will be all out war
To the song of the drunken stevedore

The pilgrims are returning now from the valley
They’ve all had a go on the Stone of Destiny
For most it will whimper, for some it may roar
But they’ve all been touched a little by its mystery
And all its spooky majesty, will all be a memory
When you’re a long way away

Take the Blows

Between bouts of weeping, I put him to bed
His snoring almost brought on the Armageddon—he slept like the dead
He rose sometime after midday, the smell of Powers still on his breath
When we left the place and ventured forth, we were both looking like death
You know what they say, day by day, you’ve got roll,
As the punches rain down you’ve got to take the blows

The train was bound for Greystones, we went out in search of some air
A walk on the prom, maybe an ice cream, that sweet breeze blowing through our hair
Pale-skinned and pasty-faced we looked like lost souls on day release
But we weren’t the only ones walking up and down that prom in search of some peace

You know what they say, day by day, you’ve got roll,
As the punches rain down you’ve got to take the blows
Take the blows, take the blows, take the blows
As the punches rain down you’ve got to take the blows

Between bouts of weeping, he put me to bed
The room it spun, the Earth it shook, the entire Cosmos was imploding in my head
I dreamed of the Great Whiskey Fire—flaming liquor flowing through the street
Sometimes life will burn your tongue, sometimes it will taste so sweet

You know what they say, day by day, you’ve got roll
As the punches rain down you’ve got to take the blows
Take the blows, take the blows, take the blows
As the punches rain down you’ve got to take the blows

The Great North Road

The christening was over, the baby’s head had been wet
We’d all rejected Satan and most of his works
We had accepted the inevitable and bowed to our fate
It was time to hand over to these new Young Turks
She had puked on our shoulders and stolen our hearts
Soon she would crawl and walk and speak
The skies were clearing, the doom it was lifting
The misery index had reached its peak

Along ley lines dousers’ rods twitch
The future tries to walk in a straight line
There’s a voice whispering in your ear
Keep your head down and do your time

Out on the road this morning I saw a Capuchin friar
His arms tucked up into the sleeves of his robe
Around the back Brother Luke is serving dinners
To souls who’ve washed up from every corner of the globe

Along ley lines dousers’ rods twitch
The future tries to walk in a straight line
There’s a voice whispering in your ear
Keep your head down and do your time
And the lesser brothers still feeding souls on the Great North Road

Down in the ancient vaults the mummies were growing restless
They’d been lying there too long waiting to be freed
Counting their sins and praying to be pardoned
For all their pride and gluttony, lust and greed

Along ley lines dousers’ rods twitch
The future tries to walk in a straight line
There’s a voice whispering in your ear
Keep your head down and do your time
And the lesser brothers still feeding souls on the Great North Road

The Gates of Hell

The gates of Hell have been blown open they say
Your man Satan’s got his foot in the door
Behind him you can hear the screeching and the squealing
The dark hordes are preparing for war
The watchman can only watch in vain
As they approach him, a keen and lively band
Dirty sluts and filthy bastards
Each with a shining pike in hand

He’s getting ready to pray, ready to slay the dragons in his heart

The fornicators are taking to the streets
The sodomites and their wicked horn
Born-again busker is singing his swansong
The veil of the temple is about to be torn

He’s getting ready to pray, ready to slay the dragons in his heart

Slay those dragons in your heart
Slay those dragons in your heart
Can you feel the evil it’s quickening
It’s tearing the world apart

The chalk artist is sketching the downfall
Christ returning in a cloak of blood
Avenging angels wreaking havoc
The unrighteous sinking into the mud

He’s getting ready to pray, ready to slay the dragons in his heart
Slay those dragons in your heart
Slay those dragons in your heart
Slay those dragons in your heart

The Chinese Barman

The Chinese barman remembered my name, long-time-no-see, he said
There was a time I’d been a regular there, skulking at the bar with all the local heads
My ex-wife had been in he said, she was asking after me
Outside the river waters rose to flood, the swimmers lined up along the quay

I used to live around here, it was an aeon ago
It’s funny how things turn out, you just never know

The Chinese barman’s seen it all before—he’s not a man you can easily shock
He’s been downwind of all manner of things, suffering and foolish talk
You take these things in your stride, he said, when you’re thousands of miles from home
Outside the swimmers had taken the plunge—they were flailing about in the foam

I used to live around here, it was an aeon ago
It’s funny how things turn out, you just never know

There are lovers down on the Bloody Bridge
River waters are black as pitch
The heart will take a mile if you give it an inch
Won’t be talked in off of the ledge

The Liffey swimmers were being hosed down—they were head to toe in god-knows-what
E-coli and Weil’s disease, ancient forms of river-gut-rot
It takes all sorts, I said to him, the hardy and the insane
Outside the river rose again, it was threatening to rain

I used to live around here, it was an aeon ago
It’s funny how things turn out, you just never know

The Back of the Pipes

One evening as I was walking down along by the Back of the Pipes
I came across some young ones in their onesies, some queerhawks and foreign types
Word was out that the Vigilance Committee was making its way into town
And the Housewives Union and the Legion of the Appalled
were about to put their boots on the ground

Ask yourself—what would Jesus do?
Turn his heels and run—for some the war was about to end
For some it had just begun

They will be breaking down doors and busting heads in tenement rooms, hovels and ditches
Shaking down street arabs, scandal givers, ponyboys on football pitches

Ask yourself—what would Jesus do?
Turn his heels and run—for some the war was about to end
For some it had just begun

Right living souls will be mentioned in despatches
Their praises sung high over pints before important matches

They will be serving soup and sandwiches, black tea, dry toast and gruel
Then they’ll be on their way home on the high-dudgeon bus with the relics of Lawrence O’Toole

Ask yourself—what would Jesus do?
Turn his heels and run—for some the war was about to end
For some it had just begun

One evening as I was walking down along by the Back of the Pipes

A Little Knowledge

They left the early house laughing, impish smiles on their faces
Dickie bows undone, they walked on arm in arm
Inside the denizens drank on nonplussed
I was on my way to work, I meant the world no harm
I’d grown used to the feel of the sackcloth and the ashes
I was keeping my head down, keeping out of trouble
Things are never as bad as they first appear
If you lean in closely you can hear there are voices in the rubble

A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, a little wisdom even worse
Out there the red giant of a dying star was exploding on the edge of the Universe

They’d lined their stomach and girded their loins
Their hearts were full of hope, their heads full of plans
Wise is the soul who will tell you the sad truth
Life is what happens when you’re busy cracking open cans

A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, a little wisdom even worse
Out there the red giant of a dying star was exploding on the edge of the Universe

Every day is a struggle to survive
You’re dodging bullets and falling masonry
On a hiding to nothing, you are holding out hope
You don’t end up a casualty

By early evening the streets were full of refugees
In beer-stained ball gowns and bedraggled monkey suits
I was on my way home, trudging through the hordes
Stepping over the ones who had died in their boots

A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, a little wisdom even worse
Out there the red giant of a dying star was exploding on the edge of the Universe

The Fellowship of the Open Road

It was all over bar the shouting, the barmen were tipping out the slops trays
The regulars were gathering, around them were pockets of stragglers and strays
I’d been given the nod, someone whispered to me to pull up a pew
Soon the place had been cleared and pints were being poured for the chosen few

Time it was our backs were slapped and our glasses they over-flowed
With the fellowship of the open road, of the open road

It was that time of the evening when your liver and your kidneys are screaming at you—it’s time to get the hell out!
But iron-willed is the soul who can look that particular gift horse straight in the mouth

Time it was our backs were slapped and our glasses they over-flowed
With the fellowship of the open road, of the open road

We were pilgrims in search of the bang of the latch, lonesome pintmen with an itch to scratch, with an itch to scratch

It was sometime before dawn, I could feel my soul slipping into the lining of my coat
I begged them to let me leave before the morning had its icy hands gripped around my throat

Time it was our backs were slapped and our glasses they over-flowed
With the fellowship of the open road, of the open road