If
you didn't care what happened to me,
and
I didn't care for you,
we
would zig zag our way through the boredom and pain,
occasionally
which of the buggers to blame
and
watching for pigs on the wing.
Dogs
You
gotta be crazy, you gotta have a real need.
You
gotta sleep on your toes, and when you're on the street,
you
gotta be able to pick out the easy meat with your eyes closed.
And
then moving in silently, down wind and out of sight,
you
gotta strike when the moment is right, without thinking.
And
after a while you can work on points for style,
like
the club tie and the firm handshake,
a
certain look in the eye and an easy smile.
You
have to be trusted by the people that you lie to,
so
that when thy turn their backs on you,
you'll
get the chance to put the knife in.
You
gotta keep one eye looking over your shoulder.
You
know it's going to get harder, and harder and harder as you get older.
And
in the end you'll pack up and fly down south,
hide
your head in the sand,
just
another sad old man,
all
alone and dying of cancer.
And
when you loose control, you'll reap the harvest you have sown.
And
as the fear grows, the bad blood slows and turns to stone.
And
it's too late to loose the weight you used to need to throw around.
So
have a good drown as you go down, alone,
dragged
down by the stone.
I
gotta admit that I'm a little bit confused.
Sometimes
it seems to me as if I'm just being used.
Gotta
stay awake, gotta try and shake off this creeping malaise.
If
I don't stand my own ground, how can I find my own way out of this maze?
Deaf,
dumb and blind, you just keep on pretending
that
everyone's expendable and no-one has a real friend.
And
it seems to you the thing to do would be to isolate the winner.
And
everything's done under the sun,
and
you believe a heart, everyone's a killer.
Who
was born in a house full of pain,
who
was trained not to spit in the fan,
who
was told what to do by the man,
who
was broken by trained personnel,
Who
was fotted with collar and chain,
who
was given a seat in the stand,
who
was breaking away from the pack,
who
was only a stranger at home,
who
was ground down in the end,
who
was found dead on the phone,
who
was dragged down by the stone.
Pigs (Three Different Ones)
Big
man, pig man, ha ha charade you are.
You
well heeled big wheel, ha ha charade you are.
And
when your hand is on your heart,
you're
nearly a good laugh, almost a joker,
with
your head down in the pig bin,
saying,
" Keep on digging", pig stain on your fat chin.
What
do you hope to find, when you're down in the pig mine?
You're
nearly a laugh, you're nearly a laugh,
but
you're really a cry.
Bus
stop rat bag, ha ha charade you are.
You
fucked up old hag, ha ha charade you are.
You
radiate cold shafts of broken glass.
You're
nearly a good laugh, almost worth a quick grin.
You
like the feel of steel, you're hot stuff with a hat pin,
and
good fun with a hand gun.
You're
nearly a laugh, you're nearly a laugh,
but
you're really a cry.
Hey
you, Whitehouse, ha ha charade you are.
You
house proud town mouse, ha ha charade you are.
You're
trying to keep our feelings off the street,
you're
nearly a real treat, all tight lips and cold feet,
and
do you feel abused?
You
gotta stem the evil tide,
and
keep it all on the inside.
Mary,
you're nearly a treat, Mary, you're nearly a treat,
but
you're really a cry.
Sheep
Harmlessly
passing your time in the grassland away,
only
dimly aware of a certain unease in the air
You
better watch out, there may be dogs about.
I've
looked over Jordan, and I have seen things are not what they seem.
What
do you get for pretending the dangers not real.
Meek
and obedient you follow the leader
down
well trodden corridors, into the valley of steel.
What
a surprise! A look of terminal shock in your eyes.
Now
things are really what they seem. No, this is no bad dream.
The
Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want He makes me down to lie.
Through
pastures green He leadeth me the silent waters by.
With
bright knives He releaseth my soul.
He
maketh me to hang on hooks in high places.
He
converteth me to lamb cutlets.
For
lo, He hath great power, and great hunger.
When
cometh the day we lowly ones,
trough
quiet reflection and great dedication,
master
the art of karate,
lo,
we shall rise up,
and
then we'll make the buggers eyes water.
Bleating
and babbling I fell on his neck with a sream.
Wave
upon wave of demented avengers
march
cheerfully out of obscurity unto the dream.
Have
you heard the news? The dogs are dead!
You
better stay home and do as you're told,
get
out of the road if you want to grow old.
Pigs On The Wing (Part Two)
You
know that I care what happens to you,
and
I know that you care for me,
so
I don't feel alone,
or
the weight of the stone,
now
that I've found somewhere safe
to
bury my bone.
And
any fool knows a dog needs a home,
a
shelter from pigs on the wing.