In The Juggler’s Arms the circus family catch up with their latest acts. The tight-rope walkers walk a thin line with their boyfriend/girlfriend acrobats.
A Sunday roast on a seaside coast the big-top landlord likes to trumpet and boast ‘bout his horn-blowing seal.
In The Juggler’s Arms tipsy knife-throwers stain their costumes with their thrills’n’spills as Houdini descendants, disappearing weekly get out of paying their bills.
Lovey-dovey fun In the pub garden sun unicyclists peddling out You’re the only one to their wheel.
Song ‘The Juggler’s Arms by me. Guitar played by Chicco Fresu/ bongos and tambourine played by me
Just ‘cos you’re to blame doesn’t mean you’re guilty. Just ‘cos it’s not your fault doesn’t mean you’re innocent. Just ‘cos you’ve got money doesn’t mean you’re worth a penny. Just ‘cos they said it well doesn’t mean they said what they meant.
Just ‘cos you’ve got time doesn’t mean it won’t run out. Just ‘cos the fun’s over doesn’t mean you can’t have a laugh. Just ‘cos you’ve got a ticket doesn’t mean you’re a ticket tout. Just ‘cos you’ve had a life doesn’t mean you’ll have an epitaph.
Just ‘cos you’re a pirate D.J. on a sea-breeze table-turning your flat-world vinyl sea-shanties doesn’t mean a whale of a man will get any more noticed than a minnow of a bloke through a back-to-front telescope.
Just ‘cos you beg doesn’t mean you walk the streets. Just ‘cos you’ve got a good grip on things doesn’t mean you could hold a trapeze. Just ‘cos you’re on a bus doesn’t mean you have the right to a seat. Just ‘cos life is routine doesn’t mean you do it with ease.
In case you’re wondering, the chorus to this kiddies’ sing-song Is sink or swim, trick or treat, ding or dong, so sing along!; “Keep your head above water. Keep your head down. Get it right or you’ll drown.”
Song ‘Just cos (it’s a Devon song)’ by Chicco Fresu (guitar) and me (vocals/drums)
The city wakes up As cleaners brush their teeth with mops. Yawning tea-spoon people stir a coffee cup. As big hands and little hands turn off alarm clocks.
Hairdresser’s open for clients to wait… Their turn to grow their hair. Buses on time arrive late As bus conductors pay their passengers’ fare.
Fashion designers doodle on sheepskin fleece As copywriters’ kids trace adverts at school. Everyone tries to keep the peace. Everything’s cool.
Song ‘Psychedelicacity’ by Chicco Fresu (guitar) and me (vocals/drums) In background I’m reading poem ‘Alliteration’n’National Anthemology’
As the kitchen staff go on the warpath With the head chef leading the culinary charge On the waiters and waitresses, under-staffed, Drawing their cutlery for a tomato blood-bath
The summer season’s over again.
All the deck chair’s now have been folded up And the little old ladies with their lovely cup Have had their biscuit and their seaside nap Back home now for the wireless cat on their lap.
The summer season’s over again.
How very soon the bride and groom Pick out the moon. And how very soon astrologers Burst their balloon.
As the Empire’s bathrooms across the land Turn on their taps and wash off the sand With the first day back close at hand Uniforms ironed and bedtime stations manned.
The summer season’s over again.
How very soon Buckets ‘n’ spades become pencils ‘n’ pens And how very soon The summer season’s over again
How very soon Holiday dads become marketing men And how very soon The summer season’s over again.
How very soon Ice-cream lolly sticks become the cane And how very soon The summer season’s over again.
How very soon The summer season’s over again. How very soon The summer season’s over again.
Song ‘How Very Soon’ by me. With group ‘Wildsmith.’ Johnny Morris on drums, me on vocals (usually the other way round!). Chris Kennedy special guest appearance on kazoo instrument. Roberto Paderi on bass.
