Cecil Leach

Under street lamp light,
there's a torn umbrella standing in the soil
as a gift from the God's of rain
Or a monolith to the biro pushers in upholstered seats,
paper chasing paper, tray to tray

Why do the likes of Christ all die,
and why do the papers victimize?
Why does a mad man dog your tracks,
and what has love got to do with that?

In a coffee cup, read a granule stare
not a nerve to spare as you reach for the bathroom wall
In a time or two you'll be coming up roses like original scent
with a message ready made for all

Why do the likes of Cecil Leach
get their way with stickily speach?
Why does he beat you call you fat,
and what has love got to do with that?

(© Sputnik Weazel ...from "Tin Foil Holidays" - CD 2007)

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