It’s got no shadow way
outside the cloud
still there is no shadow
shaking through
my shank. Yeah
oh yeah, means nothing for you
the sound of a wild trumpet
while chewing a branch of qat?

So just don’t try any rotten wood
cos’ there’s no way out
Nowhere shadowork
no sisterway kisser shaggin’ me
no more and more hide
no romance walkin’ by
like a Gunther Grass tamburine
or a midnight rambler,

and even if knocking on
you can’t get what you want,
yes, resign,
but if you just can’t,
- no wonder ! -
so outa shadow, and fight
and die in the summersun,
this glorious sun we
sometimes tried to land on.

No, you just can’t, Canio
for yourmine sake. Da, da, da
and more da, a da da
darling.

It’s a blooddawn sword
shorter than a sugarday
of any milkind of blues,
it’s a round golden sunny CD
while playing my
favourite souls.
And that’s the end of the trip.

Da, da da...

London, august 1999