Author: Megamole
These have been bubbling under for a while. Time they escaped.
The Luggage - to "Jerusalem" (Blake/Parry)
And did those feet in ancient time
Follow the tourist's trousers green,
And were the prints of countless toes
In Morpork's smelly alleys seen?
And did the knotholes in the lid
Glare forth with murderous intent,
And was the Luggage by his side
As on his wanderings Twoflower went?
Bring me my hat of sequins bare,
Bring me my robe of tattered red,
Bring me my boots - now run like hell,
Or soon I'll be a wizzard dead.
I will not cease from running scared,
Nor shall my Luggage leave my trail,
Till we have found a place to hide
>From THEM - Oh shit! They're on my tail!
Couple of Tull filks, inspired by the SingalongaGid session last Saturday...
Locomotive Breath -> Golem Breath
[v. self-indulgent piano intro - J. Ellis, after Anderson, after Bach]
In the shuffling madness
of the city's stinking breath
Runs the King of Golems
Headlong to his death -
He feels the words a-roaring,
Hears shouts inside his head -
The golems stole the secret
And the words just won't stop calling -
No way to slow down.
The golems build their freedom,
Assembled bit by bit -
As clay of their clay hardens
To bring them from the pit
Yeah, he's scrawling holy slogans
In the secret room,
The golems stole the secret
And the words just won't stop calling -
No way to slow down.
*[mad recorder/flute solo]*
He hears the silence howling,
Red eyes they burn and stare,
At the human masters
Who told him life's not fair -
Well, he looks at his creation
And he wonders when it ends
The golems stole the secret
and the words just won't stop calling
No way to slow down.
Aqualung -> Foul Ole Ron
(Surprised nobody's thought of this one before, really...)
Sitting on a park bench
Yelling at the Watch with bad intent.
Snot running down his nose
Greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes.
Hey, Foul Ole Ron -
Swearing in the cold sun,
Watching as his Smell makes people run.
Hey, Foul Ole Ron -
Looking for his mate's duck,
Spitting out pieces of his broken luck.
Sun streaking cold,
An old man wandering lonely,
Shouting filth the only
Way he knows.
Leg hurting bad, as he bends to pick a dog-end -
he goes down to the Shades and eats his boots.
Feeling alone - you go back to the Guild,
Play with the skin you spilled and clip your warts.
Foul Ole Ron, my friend, don't you start away uneasy -
You smelly sod, you see it's only me.
Do you still remember last Hogswatch, foggy freeze,
When the ice that clung on to your beard was screaming agonies?
And you snatch your rattling last breaths
With millennium hand and shrimp,
And the dogs they talk like madness in the spring.
*[reprise of "Sun streaking cold" -> "it's only me"]
[axe solo by Constable Cuddy]*
Foul Ole Ron, my friend, don't you start away uneasy -
You smelly sod, you see it's only me...
*[repeat "Sitting on a park bench"]*
MegaMole
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