John Hegley My Auntie gives me a colouring Book My auntie gives me a colouring book and crayons, I begin to colour, After a while Auntie leans over and says, You've gone over the lines, What do you think they're there for? eh! Some kind of statement is it, Going to be a rebel are we, Your Auntie gives you a lovely present and you have to ruin it, I begin to cry, My Uncle gives me a hankie and some blank paper, Do some doggers of your own he said, I begin to colour, When I have done, he looks over and says they're all very good, He is lying, Only some of them are. Centurian Soldier Once a Centurian soldier, Said, Venus how I want to hold you, She replied, I'm a god, And it's great on my tod, And his mate said Marsellius I told you so, Lent Lent, is meant to be spent fasting, In rememberance of the Lord, Lasting six weeks without a decent meal, Six weeks in the desert, Without any dinner, without any desert, And without any tart, but he saved on rent, and before he went he ate plenty of pancakes. Unfortunates Jack in the boxes without springs, Jackdaws without wings, Lumberjacks with broken backs, And both their arms in slings, These are a few of my favourite things. A Comparison Between Logs and Dogs Both are very popular at Christmas, But it is not generally considered cruel to abandon a log, And dogs are rarely used as fuel. Smelly One playtime, staying out of the rain, His heart sank, Someone sniffed his seat, And said it stank, A ritual followed, in which you had to dare, To whiff the niffy chair, Requeling from the squeling, In jubilant despair, From that day on we called him smelly, But one day Smelly wasn't there, Gone for good and noone knew where, But you could still smell smelly, If you smelt his chair.

Sophie Hannah Occupational Hazard He has slept with the stupid and clever, He has slept with the rich and the poor, But sadly admits he's never slept with a poet before, Real poets are rare he confesses, While it's easy to find a cashier, So I gave him some poets addresses, And consider a change in career. Shampoo Hair, cleans itself, you confidently say, Shampoos a con, If so, why was I able, Oh lucky me, To smell your unwashed head, From where I sat, Across a wide pub table. The pastas in the cupboard dear The pastas in the cupboard dear, You'll find a saucepan on the shelf, Get your pathetic arse in gear, And make the bloody tea yourself. Baffy Old Load Her Description never showed, For years she lived on baffy old load, According to the envelope that bought the final lost of hope, From time to time, she'd blink and shout, There's nothing to be dead about, But they'd already sprayed her grave, With cheap ex-boyfriend aftershave.

Ian Macmillan Spot I've got a spot on my arm, And another spot further up, And another spot further down, And another spot over there, and if you join them up with a biro, they make the one out of Blur, with the floppy hair, Yes Alex James is on my arm, You make him if you join the dots, Alex keeps me away from harm, I made him up from lots of spots. Elvis Elvis in the bank, Elvis in the shop, Elvis in the pub loo, Elvis in the footy crowd, Elvis on the roof, Elvis singing mighty loud, Elvis lives and that's the truth, Elvis never went away, Elvis never died, Elvis on the train today, Elvis Presley's coughing lying, Every fat man with a quiff, Every chubby bloke, Could be Elvis, He was never stiff, His death was just a joke. The concerned Sixth Formers Look out, here come the concerned sixth formers, They are concerned about the cosmos, They are concerned about the ozone layer, They are concerned about the planet, Look out, here come the concerned sixth formers, They are concerned about getting into each others trousers, They are concerned about how to smoke without getting noticed, They are concerned about how to talk to people, without getting embarrassed, Look out, here come the concerned sixth formers. I'm a Yorkshire Minimalist I'm a Yorkshire minimalist, and I say nowt, If I've got emotions, I don't let em out, My response to joy, is a self defeated shrug, If I won the lottery, I would not kiss or hug, Cause I'm a Yorkshire minimalist, and I say nill, And talky, talky, talky, talky, it really makes me ill, Reet, thou knows, shutup, nowt, glum. One, two One, two buckle my shoe, Three, four, knock at the window, Five, six, pick up small pieces of cardboard, Seven, eight, lay it down, Nine, ten, a big fat biffa, Eleven, twelve, dig an tango, Thirteen, fourteen, maids a submarine, Fifteen, sixteen, maids in a slave shop, Seventeen, eighteen, ladies in dinning suits, Nineteen, twenty, my plates plastic. The Surrealist Postman Our surrealist postman, Comes down the street on a zebra, Not a real zebra of course, That would be silly, Paper mache zebra that's not silly, Our surrealist postman, Doesn't post the letters through the letter box, He makes Blackpool Tower from them, Not a real Backpool Tower of course, That would be silly, Our surrealist postman, His hat is made of cheese, Lovely lovely cheese, Not real cheese of course, That would be silly. Acabuilt Gigs They used to riot at acabuilt gigs, Knock over chairs and shout, Aca stood there playing stranger on the shore, THe jazz fans knocked each other out, Like this...bee bop bee bop, and this bee bop bee bop, and this rimschott, rimschott, and this rimschott, rimschott, and Aca wore a bow hat, And thought he was a cool cat, Around him a riot boiled and raged, Jazz fans were scrapping all arage, Bee bop, Rimschott, yeah man. Uncle Charlies Braces Uncle Charlies braces, they filled me with glee, Uncle Charlies braces, were thin and spidery, Uncle Charlies braces, had buttons at the back, Uncle Charlie died of a heart attack, Uncle Charlies braces, they filled me with glee, Uncle Charlies braces, were thin and spidery, Uncle Charlies braces, had buttons at the front, Uncle Charlies teeth were brown and blunt, Uncle Charlies braces, they filled me with glee, Uncle Charlies braces, my childhood memory.

Martin Newell In Memorium for Brian Conelly The beats still bounce off the walls, And echos in the provincial halls, Where guys in platform boots, With cheap street hair and mousey roots, Could dance away the working week, With dolly birds and beeber chic, The stack healed prince of prinky pop, His white blonde spider cut atop, The babyface the tin foil looms, The factory friendly chorus tunes, The band of course were less well known, For brilliant b-sides of their own, And now they age but how they age, To close to have for us this stage, Our memories mingle with our fear, The mircles we daren't go near, He drank to much he wasn't well, He had a lot the bagatelle, I envyed him his platinum links, A bloody shame, goodnight sweet prince, National Anthem For Britain John save our railway trains, Patch up our water mains and submarines, Keep from the wrecking crew, Small shops and Doctor Who, Anything that goes moo and cheap baked beans, This is our heritage, Names like Ilene and Reg and warm flat beer, Lace curtains cricket bats and monogram toilet mats, Plays set in laundromats and Clapton Pier, There is a third verse but noone can remember it. Paul McCartney Paul McCartney in the kitchen, Helping Linda with her pies, Looked up from a finished pie top, Gazed into his partners eyes, Saying 'Since the Beetles finished, Critics claim I'm limper, Is this how my world has ended, Not with a twang but with a wimper, Life Of Spice Our own homegrown Madonnabees, Hands posed near naughty places, Their neat Miss Selfridge figures, Their Alliance and Leiester faces, With eyes which give the game away, You sense the smiles straining, When Tabloids want bikini shots, Exteriors and it's raining, The wit and wisdom of their words, Are trundled past us daily, I used to breed Chinchillas, And my uncle lives in Raily, We're Tories but we're Liberal, And We're very slightly Labour, Cause that shows a Spice Girl, And the Popes me next door neighbour, Their number one in the USA, They'll extremely cute, Like pictures sold in Woolworths of some kittens in a boot, I bet their gruelling schedule, Sometimes makes them weepy, Geri, Mel, Victoria, Mel err grumpy Dot and Sleepy. Rolf Harris A kittens furball safely cleared, Be helped but never interfered, That toothy grin and gristled beard, You'd miss him if he dissappeared from Animal Hospital, From sun arise he set the tone, Superemo of the stylophone and wobbble board, A cornerstone of rock and roll he made his own, Stairway to Heaven, It's surely due to oversight, The fact he's not been made a knight, And those cartoons were dynamite, All charcoaled sketched at speed of light, Can you guess what it is yet? He pioneered the digeredoo, A boom for any crusty crew, God bless the knalled old kangeroo, And now ther's this new single due, Bohemium Rhapsody, Sorry i don't know the title of this poem When mum was out, the radio was turned up if they played the Shads, The path of pop ever paved with posies, Raquets ready lads, Ther's something very Boyzone, Paper homespun and complete, About the pizzicazzo bridge the trademark twang, The youth club beat, The cheer of the cheerful manly tremalo, Nothing soft about our hate, No glupy love songs here my boys, It's just a Geordie and his plank, A symphony in monochrome, And genie with a light brown lamp, He loiters in your lost arcades, Like pinballs, parrafin and damp, It's filthy coffe erzacks cola, Crisps with little bags of salt, That punched the paunchy Peter's Pans, When Hank unlocks the memory vault. Noddy Holder Not Roxy, Bowie or T-Rex, But plumbers mates in Rupert kecks, With pop songs for the refugee from the football grounds and factory, The pilled up bleiry boy like me, We'd kick to death the working week, With Noddy Holder at his peak, And Friday lunchtime Lowenbrau, Performance sneering at us now, What you call that blood row? And then much later in disgrace, Drunken gutter stars on face, Nineteen and witless girlfriend fled, So dragged by mates and thrown on bed, The Slade songs roaring around my head, And Noddy Holder on midweek, My glamrock haircut layered and streaked, Cut long ago reveals a brow, Where time has dragged a rusty plough, I'm several light years older now, And what you call that bloody row? Escape From Glastiz A special poem written for the Glastonbury festival... The smell of old Petually from raggle taggle tents, The sizzle of wet denim on the hot electric fence, The triple stell sections the moats as deep as wide, The distant camp of mortar across the other side, The warnings and the beatings the trudge across the mire, THe shatter of machine guns the daunting razor wire, And the silent in the watch towers the grim determine guard, His swivel glaring spot light to make intrusion hard, And legend had it one year they caught a poor gowy fella, Who parchuted over by using an umbrella, They took away his space cakes and several cans of Stella, They marched him back to main stage to finish watching Wella, Sorry Arabella.

Glyn Maxwell Rumplestiltskin Your name is Rumplestiltskin cried the Queen, It's not, he lied, I lied, the time you heard me say it was, I never heard you, it's a guess she lied, He lied, my name is Z, She told the truth, your turning red Z, He said that's not my name, Your turning red all the same, Liar, he cried, I'm turning blue, And this was absolutely true, And then he ripped himself into two, As liars tend to have to do. Watching Over Elated by ourselves, we shift and slip, Mouths open with a memory of a kiss, Parting in two to sleep, And if it's mine then that was it, That break above, And now it's yours, I wake to witness your unknowing, Our love and all you know, Some ancient will, The night is safe and quiet here, Commands you be watched over now, And to that end exacerbates the wind and whipping rains, Or amplifies howls of animals to make my waking watchful, And tense, Though for a thousand miles, there is no mind to hurt you, Nor one raindrop in the wind. Rhymes for my new born Daughter Back in the indescribable condition, Birds fluttered down and pecked, She had already learnt how stillness kept them, She knew also nearness rushed them off, You wave your arms and flap them very far from here, How far now, Back in the indescribable condition, Birds fluttered down and stayed, And nothing moved them, No time or fright, No motion or surprise, They went everywhere, They all went, Her first word was one of them, Then they hid away like wings. Poem In Blank Rhyme This isn't very difficult to do, The skies pink, the morning pretty new, Last night I met a mate from the old crew, We walked too far, too late, And turned a U out of the woods as it got dark, He'd knew I'd spend the evening talking about you, But didn't mind, And when you had to queue, He made the time fly quickly, With his two dozen unfunny jokes, Plus a big clue about his own big heart, Well the sky is blue, now over there, I'm standing in the dew, Remembering and hoping that it's true, Days are very many, days are few, I want to be with someone and your who,

Wendy Cope A Green Song To Sing At The Bottle Bank One green bottle, drop it in the bank, Ten green bottles, what a lot we drank, Heaps of bottles, and yesterdays a blank, But we'll save the planet, tinkle tinkle clank, We've got bottles, nice percussive trash, Bags of bottles, cleand us out of cash, Empty bottles, we love to hear them smash, And we'll save the planet, tinkle tinkle, crash, Noises In The Night Why are men so good at sleeping? Is it just the drink? While we're tossing, turning, weeping, Why are men so good at sleeping? Snoring, whistling, grunting, beeping, No one else can get a wink, Why are men so good at sleeping? Is it just the drink? An Attempt At Unrhymed Verse People tell you all the time, Poems do not have to rhyme, It is often better if they don't, An I am determined that this one won't, Oh dear, Never mind I'll start again, Busy, busy with my pen- cil, I can do it if I try, Easy peasy pudding and gerkins, Writing verse is so much fun, Cheering as the summer weather, Makes you feel alert and bright, Especially when you get it more or less the way you wanted. The Aerial The aerial on this radio, Broke a long, long time ago, When you just a named me, Someone I didn't know, The man before the man before, Had not yet set his cap, The day a clumsy gester, Caused that slender rod to snap, Love came along, love came along, then you, And now it's ended, Tommorrow I shall tidy up and get the radio mended,

Simon Armitage The Wolf Reports of a wild beast taking sheep, from as far away as Diggle and Delph, Turned out to be more or less false, Police got word of a fleece on a washing line, to the south, And it came out to be more like the film of the book, Than the truth, The man on his own in the home, Been in wool, A WPC in plain clothes banging the door with one of those brass door knockers, In the shape of a wolf. Hercules After not taking the cat out to the vet for a jab, Not putting the garden hose back in the shed, Not tracking something down, Not bringing any bacon home, Blacking the kitchen stool with black lead, After not finding the dead bird the cat has smuggled in, After not, not talking rubbish on the phone all day with friends, After not paying the blacksmith cash instead of a cheque, After not bringing the washing into the house when it rained, After not having the spine to dig the vegetable patch, Not picking the fruit, before the fruit went bad, After not walking the dog once all day crying out loud, I collapse exhausted on my side of the unmade bed. The Eel At the jungle research station in Brazil, They keep a brown electric eel in a dishwater coloured goit, That looked to me when it was pointed out, More like a dead palm leaf, Or side on a length of gutter pipe, As I said to the man who was showing us around, Dingy or not, You have to take your hat off to a beast, That keeps itself to itself for the most part, But when touched, Transforms a single thought, Into several thousand volts. Cruella Literally she was a cruel lady, And you didn't need to be good at Scrabble, To see that her surname was evil, and devil, Talking to herself once, she said, 'Be careful when you kill the little things, darling, Don't brek you nails, Don't damage the skins, She wore half a mile of white fur, She drove half a mile of black car, For everyone who had cottoned on, There were another hundred jerks, Waiting to be taken in, Me, I was just the hundred and first.

Becky Simpson reads... Young Becky Simpson reads selected poems by Robert Lewis Stevenson and Liverpool poet Brain Patton. Gran Says (Brian Patton) Gran says that her friend Pat has a bee on her bonnet, So I smeared honey on it, Gran says that her friend Mary is tick as two short planks, She isn't, she's as fat as two ten tonne tanks, Gran says that her friend Claire leads a dogs life, If so why did she spit ou the winow meat sandwich I made her, Gran says that her friend Stan has a chip on his shoulder, It's not true, When I saw him, I said 'has someone stolen your chip Stan?', He sort of frowned at Gran. The Moon Has Face (R.L. Stevenson) The moon has a face like the clock on the wall, She shines on the thieves on the garden wall, On the streets and fields and habour quays, And birdies asleep in the forks of the trees, The squalling cat and the squeeling mouse, The howling dog by the door of the house, The bats that lie in the besset moon, All love to be out by the light of the moon, But all of the things that belong to the day, Cuddle to sleep to be out of her way, And flowers and chlidren close their eyes, Till up in the morning the sun shall rise. The Arrival Arrives (Brian Patton) Tom, take the baby out of the fridge, And put the milk back in, We know you're not used to him, And thinks he makes a din, But I'm afraid that he's here to stay, And he is rather cute, So you'll have to stop insisting, That he goes in the car boot, And please stop telling all your friends, We brought him in a sale, Or that he is a free sample, We recieved in the mail, He was not found in a trolley, In the local Mothercare, And a family did not give him us, Because they had one to spare, You should look o nthe bright side, Tom, In just a year or two, You'll have someone else to blame, For all the wicked things you do. The Good Play (R.L. Stevenson) We built a ship upon the stairs, All made out of the back bedroom chairs, And filled it full of sofa pillows, To go a sailing on the billows, We took a saw and several nails, And water in the nursery pails, And Tom said, let us also take an apple and slice of cake, It was enough for Tom and me to go sailing on, till tea, We sailed along for days and days, And the very best of plays, But Tom fell out and hurt his knee, So there was no one left but me. Hippo-rhyme-a-potamous I'm sick to death, the hippo said, I'll tell you that there are times, That I'd like to smash those awful poets, And their silly rhymes, It really is undignified, The way they rhyme my name, I wish I was magnamanous, But I feel venomous, When my name is made autonomous, With people like horrononmous, It's absolutely scurralous, How their half baked rhymes, Mock at us harmless hippopotamous. The Unseen Playmate (Robert L. Stevenson) When children are playing alone on the green, In comes the playmate that never was seen, When children are happy and lonely and good, The friends of the children come out of the wood, Nobody heard him and nobody saw, His is a picture that you could never draw, But he's sure to be present aboard or at home, When children are happy and playing alone, Tis he, when at night when you go off to your bed, Bids you to go to your sleep and not trouble your head, For wherever their lying in cupboard or shelf, Tis he who will take care of your playthings himself. Mary had a bit of lamb (Brian Patton) Mary had a bit of lamb, It's fleece was as white as snow, And everywhere that Mary went, The lamb was sure to go, She went to the butchers, Came out with some lamb chops, I would never follow Mary, To any kinds of shops. The Swing (Robert L. Stevenson) The sun is not a bed, When I at night upon my pillow lie, Still round earth his way he takes, And morning after morning makes, While here at home in shining day, We round the sunny garden play, Each little indian, sleepy head, Is being kissed and put to bed, And when at eve I rise from tea, Day dawns beyond the Alantic sea, And all the children in the west, Are getting up and being dressed. How the Teacher Got Her Nickname (Brian Patton) When the new teacher said, 'I'm going to be frank with you', I burst out laughing, 'What are you laughing about?' she asked, 'Well it's hard to explain Frank' I said, From that moment on Miss Jones became Frank, For that she has me to thank. Magic Breath (Brian Patton) In the park one winter, I was caught out in a storm, I blew upon my hands, Just to make them warm, Coming home exhausted, From a gruelling day at school, I blew upon my soup, Just to make it cool, I must be a magician, Why was I never told, So with just a single breath, I can blow hot and cold.

Brendan Clairy Cake Well, if it's got marzipan on it, I don't care, I don't want to have it or eat it, It depends, it all boils down to what you're offering, doesn't it, Chocolate fudge with you, in the bustle of the city, Coffee or caramel, in the cafes of Amsterdam, At least specify, I need to know where I stand, On the cake question that is, It's not difficult, surely, At least give me a hint, Whenever our eyes next collide, At least let me sneak a glimpse of the menu. Oysters Naomi, Cindy, Claudia and little wafe Kate, And every would be supermodel out in radio land, Put down those hair tongues, That lipstick quick, Leave those eyelashes alone, For just thirty seconds, Listen to me, What sexy, sexy voice I have, So how come, they've never eaten oysters together, Whispered your names, A literany to my phone, I saved all you r snapshots from Hello magazine, But you never call or write, You never fax me, How come oysters, and you and me, Okay oysters and then where? Disclosure I have disclosed my PIN number again, It just keeps cropping up in conversation, Even at the grimfaced checkout counter, I said 'Thank you, Miss Smith I presume 8470', She looked up, I gasped, As did the Waitress, 'Garlic bread please 8470', I just can't quit it, I must love thieves, I must want renegades to steal my stash, I break up conversations about literature and art, I bring even the weather around to it, my PIN, Yes I'm bored unless everybody is listening to me. A Nature Poem I mean how, how does it all work then, Tell me, you're the David Attenbough type, A caterpillar becomes a butterfly, Imagine one minute crawling about in rain sodden leaves, The next flying above it all, Beauty with a swagger, I mean butterflies look nothing like caterpillars, As for humans, what if we turned into trees, Growing hair for branches, Saying when I'm a tree, people would be afraid, I find they are of change, But turning into a tree would be scary, That's natural, Lord keep me away from factory clocks and full length mirrors. Cheese Cake Is there a cheese cake in heaven, you wonder, I can see you now in the hypermarket musing, You're wearing your bifocals but still squint, Cheese cake, there's ten factories full of the stuff, All the great preparers of cheese cake throughtout history, Are up there consulting with each other, constantly, They have cheese cake competitions for the hell of it, Usually the great Raymondo wins hands down, You should taste his raspberry filling, stupendous, Strangely enough the great Ramondo wears bifocals too, Up here you can have contact lenses, See to it, And if I catch Gods postman before the last collection, I'll send you cheese cake dearest to scoff in you dreams.

Say So Catalogue Underpants He lives in the kind of house I used to make with Lego, Howled outside on me bike, I never know, She comes everyday, Thinks I can't see her mush, Folded as she is, behind my Hyde Ranger bus, Not in control, Yesterday I had me hand on the crotch parts of catalogue underpants, I've told her it's madness, I'm not long off me grave, I've told her she's a big girl, And she needs to be brave, He's a sea god, A mascot and noone else will do, It's not my fault I'm nearly thirty-two. The Wrong Specs He has buns of steel, She'd like a feel, I'm feeling dead dangerous and flirty, His upper age for women is thirty, He's not too young for me, Thrity five verus twenty three, He's got the most amazing pecs, You're wearing the wrong specs, I'm getting the available vibration, Directly connected to sexual frustration, He's tasty, a bit of class, A pernod, lager and black in the same glass, The right clothes, the right shoes, Carpet slippers and elastic trues, He's looking at me oooozing sex, He's not, you're wearing the wrong specs. Mint Attack I only wanted a packet of mints, Stood behind him in the queue, Saw his face in profile, Hard, Boney temples, tough jaw, The smell of his Insignia drove me mad, Twenty Bensons pal, He grunted, And I wanted to push him into the Daily Mails, Jump on him, unlace his Nike trainers, What do you want missus, The paperman said, Some mints I told him then left. Just Asking I'll be Mohammed to your Mountain, A lonely penny in your fountain, I'll run the fastest mile if I saw you coming, I'll do the marathon and keep on running, I'd be Hong Kong to your China, The voice that says behind you, I'd get aquainted to the flu's of Asia, I'd be a volenteer of euthanasia, That's a no then is it.

Fiona Bowker Space Cadets I've read about people who've had close encounters, And it seems to me that these abductees, Get invited to better parties than me, Do extraterrestials go to pop festivals, And pitch pyramid tents in a field, We'd rather surf the waves of the internet pages, And practice social skills like supermarket rage, And try to calculate how many light years away we are from civilisation, And as long as groovy gravity, Newtons great Pritt Stick and God's fuzzy felt, Tethers me down to planet Earth, I'll feel like I'm alien here, And as long as torelations only means that Emerdale can have a lesbian vet, Then I'll be out every weekend with the other space cadets. After The Pub Has Closed Paul has gone to bed, I caught him starring at the floor, I've persuaded Jane to join his disco sleeping floor, Rob's been in the room for an hour or so, The others well, they all left quite some time ago, I couldn't quite get up, I couldn't quite doze, I'm in that trans transparent mode that makes me feel both young and old, I'm on that spaced out, spacious road that opems up when the club has closed, It's a time that I can think those thoughts, That may or then again may not be told, As in this hrouded silence, some vetted day unfold, I'm in that trans transparent mode, that lets in light through the gauzed blindfold. Something To Do Saatchi and Hitachi present the lifestyle choice of advertisements, I smoke tabs, cause it's something to do, I drink beer, cause it's something to do, I get caned, cause it's something to do, I fall over, cause it's something to do, Why are you in advertising? it's something to do, Your right, I could do other things with my life, But don't try telling me that there's a reason for doing tham other than it's something to do, Something to do, it's what you do around here, When you grow out of saying there's nothing to do, It's not fair, it's got something to with being what you want, And just like advertising, it's a dirty job, But someones got to do it. Temple of Doom Some people worship their bodies like temples, Well mines a temple of doom, It's not for me pumping iron and walking miles on stepping machines that go nowhere fast, Lifes already like that without getting up before noon, Some people want to go their graves in perfect physical nick, Well you won't find me watching me weight and curbing my legendary alcohol intake for some morbid undertakers sake, So my coffin won't weigh too much, Some people show you specimins of pickled livers and lungs reminding you of the damage you've done, Making an issue of my hard earned spar tissue, Think of your kidneys, No kidding I'm having my moneys worth. One Side of the Bed I can rationalise the leaving, In a psuedo buddist thread, I can visualise the healing, With a logic lucid head, I can excersize the dealing, With fear and the dread, And I can scrutinise the meaning, In the words we left unsaid, I can lean towards the truth, Or I can basque within the pain, But if I mean to find some proof, To prove you won't love me again, Then I must deem that I am who is at least half to blame, And from now on, what I do, I must do but not explain, But however hard I try, To forget you from my head, I still can only sleep, On one side of the bed.

Dike Crossroads Before you decide where you are going, Look where you are and where that road will then take you, Before you expose what you are showing, Think what you have shown and what you show will then make you, Before you become a believer, Ask not who they are but what they stand for, And if then you must decide you must follow, Ask not what they'd live but what they would die for. Candlelight and Mistletoe Candlelight and mistletoe and who knows where the night will go, Perhaps the damsel in distress finds a prince and builds a nest, And from this nest a good thing grows, And in their eyes this good thing glows, To eternity to here who knows? Candlelight and mistletoe. Enermy Within Enermy is here, I feel his presence, I smell his odour my only friend is fear, Death may be near for this young soldier, I have both eyes to see him, Though I feel I need not use them, For to defeat him, I must be him, All his choices, I must choose them, The darkness amplifies, the raging blood that flows within, The time is now or never, heitaion will surely kill him. War and Peace You've taken all that I have, And more so now release me, There'd be more than a score to settle if you refuse, The path that leads to war is often easy, It's the path that leads to peace that is seldom used, It's taken all the strength that I can find just to do nothing, Cause that which I have in mind would end your life, But long like the length of a line is, refined and stunning, Defines the tolerance of the one who whelds the pen, Not the knife. Troubles Voice the opinions you value, Indirectly if no other way, Overcome the division that divides you, Life owes you nothing but will make you pay, Examine your change, Cause mistakes that you make won't be rectified or repaid entirely, Trouble remains before and after the reigns, Those things that cause pain only inspire me.

Sheryl Martin The Truth About Smoking Hey kid, you'll lay behind if you're addicted to fags, Or so the government insists, All I know is, Sticking my tongue in an ashtray, Isn't my idea of a kiss. Devotion Okay, I admit it, I watch the X-Files in the dark with a torch, On my knees praying for Mulder to scortch the screen, Which he does once a series, Now if only the aliens would take back Scully. The OFSTED The inspectors came to our school last week, The had the cheek to look through my copy book, Nothing there but love letters to Paul Ince, Ever since my teacher won't speak to me, Can I help it I'm a football fatality. Formula One Playstation I have a friend who has friend, Who hasn't got a life, His joy is restricted to a stick, Three hours of fake Silverstone, Isn't even a joke, Good thing is, just like sex, While he plays he can't smoke. Not The Worlds Favorite Airline Isn't it funny, whether it's thunder or sunny, Flying never bothers stewards a bit, Lately on the ground, you can't walk around, Withou falling over cabin crews who are sick, But I do feel sympathy, I've been sick since I had to cancel my holiday.