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This part of town is all flatfish tramps |
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Beautiful women becoming mothers |
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All night long the piano grins |
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And I sit drinking sweetheart stout |
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Hey lonely you, you with the negro face |
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Say lonely what time does the music start? |
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Suddenly the actress belly laughs |
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And I put my hand on hers |
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Islington John, time you were gone |
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Look at the clock, it's a quarter to one |
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And when it strikes the hour |
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I will steal your poppy flower |
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I get a nosebleed under the blue lamp |
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The actress goes up to the ugly man and they kiss |
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The wind ruffles the polythene |
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On a woman drunk on powdered milk and gas |
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Me and the actress meet a crowd walking backwards |
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Football fans attacking gypsy caravans |
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Someone hits my head from the back |
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As I'm peeping at cookery down an extractor stack |
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Islington John, time you were gone |
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Look at the clock, it's a quarter to one |
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And when it strikes the hour |
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I will steal your poppy flower |
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Cars beep as we flamenco dance on the pavement |
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The innards of an old alsatian preserved by frost |
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Back at her flat the actress gargles |
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and puts on a record by Juliette Greco |
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Islington John, time you were gone |
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Look at the clock, it's a quarter to one |
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And when it strikes the hour |
|
I will steal your poppy flower |
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Islington John lifted the nylon |
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Lay amongst the broken antiques and smiled |
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Reeking of coffee and piss |
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Sober enough just to say this: |
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"I will pay for the fire extinguisher |
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The sand bucket and case |
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If you will let me pay for this man's face" |
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Islington John, time you were gone |
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Look at the clock, it's a quarter to one |
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And when it strikes the hour |
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I will steal your poppy flower |
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I will steal your poppy flower |
|
I will steal your poppy flower |
