1. |
Broadcast Apparel
03:26
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Yes, we are new here. How can you tell?
Our colourful utilitarian mode is a broadcast apparel.
Oh well.
We're stepping out like mannequins,
We are attired for anything,
In cafes, galleries, stage-set street-told histories,
We're stepping out so to record
New memories that will be stored
In treasure boxes or in clouds,
To be kept secret or shared aloud
By those we love and care about.
A few days out from here,
Episodes, soon, will appear.
Listen, edit, then transmit
With postcard phrasing, exquisite!
Yes, we know our audience,
Seeking any reference
To ensure the personal
Is tailor-made for one and all.
Are we accepted, for what we are?
We're only opening your wonders
To folk near and far.
We're stepping out...
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2. |
The Logo On Your Heart
04:07
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The nineteen-seventies' robot children run in dungarees.
Now we can see through these adverts for white-heat technologies.
Is that a logo on your heart?
Is there a logo on this heart?
The concrete can't reflect, messages it was formed to detect.
Still, so good it seems,
Superhuman endeavours, not dreams - but oh what dreams.
Is that a logo on your heart?
Is there a logo on this heart?
What are these logos on our hearts?
Are our hearts the shape of hearts?
A sculpture to admire, knowingly we don't enquire,
So silently it gives what we desire.
Are we here to celebrate ourselves or a prefabricated
World for which we were created, wonders of the age so feted?
Yet, see the flowers in the shingle,
Tell me, can you feel the tingle?
A moment where we are not single.
Just ourselves.
Oh how good it seems.
Might it be that we have our own dreams?
What is that...
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3. |
In Earthquake Country
03:36
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Shaken,
Yet who could know?
Still reservoirs with resin calm.
Church bells
Peel across here,
A model cliche of pastorale charm.
Hedgerows,
Painted in lines -
At least that is how they appear.
Flocks rise,
Migration's joy.
Happy patterns, year upon year.
Yet these soils, they have known tumult.
Their scars, though, so hard to spy.
A drama, seismic in scale.
Rewritten so to deny.
Awoken,
To a new time.
There's no recollection, it seems.
Yes this strata,
Has tales to unfold
With a glory that could be supreme.
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4. |
Kinema
03:30
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See the flicker
The light stutter, hither,
And now the scene is aglow.
Visual, the grammar
Espousing the glamour.
Maybe Vienna, although
Somewhere much closer is where the proposer
Sets out what cannot be said.
Will our reflections avoid the attention
That comes of the ill-edited?
We're sat, as we are
Like in the golden age of kinema
We're sat. as we are
Like in the golden age of cinema.
No escaping,
The picture's relating
Sequences we have been through.
Review the reel,
Does it reveal
The true tale of me and of you?
We're sat...
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5. |
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Old quayside philosophers and blue-rinse holograms
Reminisce about a time before kilos and grammes.
A modernist pavilion
The lido's Roman air,
And do you know the excitement of how we travelled there?
Overhead Sunbeam-power,
Take us to happy hours,
Seagulls swoop, to devour
Debris from new avowers.
Feeling live from stolen moments,
Never neutral now!
Raise your hands!
If you understand.
The ghosts of long-closed border posts and bar debaters too.
Pontificate on youthful fate and those they bid "adieu"
The fun on the funicular.
A pier-head promenade.
Oh, who was really what they seem?
How much was purse facade?
Overhead Sunbeam-power...
Raise your hands...
Raise your hands -
Up in parallel,
Raise your hands -
Ready to propel,
Raise your hands -
Oh, you might inspire
Memories
Of a fond desire.
Raise your hands -
Now the current's strong.
Raise your hands -
Let's be swept along.
Raise your hands -
To who knows where?
Raise your hands.
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6. |
Held
04:24
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Who says the wooden are not natural when they move?
I think you've simply found your groove.
Oh I'd hold you,
I might hold you,
I would hold you,
I could hold you,
I may hold you,
I might hold you,
Oh I'd hold
If you'd be held.
No need for rings to show the wisdon that you bring.
Your dance is always everything.
Oh I'd hold...
Age-old are the elements
Faced-down to our detriment,
En route to my settlement.
But, now, might we pause?
Then sway?
Who says the wooden are not graceful when they move?
To me, you have nothing to prove.
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