INTRO: READ ALL ABOUT IT! Biscuit rations to increase by decree of the Masters! Missing baby found in spider's web! Well hello there, friend! I suppose you're here with the Ministry of Accounting and Recounting? Taking the census? Well you've picked a spot alright! There's no shortage of colourful characters here in the Neath and they all pass through here at the Singing Mandrake. Let old Harry Teller show you about. There's a fellow up top by name of Robert Rackett. But these days everyone calls him Honest Bob. I should say you pay him a visit...
VERSE 1: HONEST BOB Nice to meet you, guvna', what you want to know? Trying to keep a track of numbers now we're dumped here down below? Fine, come take a look you'll see – I'm an open book to read Something took the city then this city really took to me I'm not a crook or thief – I just do what I got to do Bloke's still got to eat - Beef is more than a bob or two In a ditch and out the picture, London's withering in walls which are Far too steep a pitch to climb but steep just makes the tealeaf richer See it did you? Oh, it takes me back. Day like any other then became the Day of Wrath As the monuments were toppled and the cobbles writhed and jostled And the skies above were gobbled by a raging plague of bats
Stuck down in the Neath Drowning in disease Air sticks to your teeth It's thick and viscous with the whispers in the breeze Tried to earn an honest bob But a bob is just a Robert And a Robert's just a robber to a tee
Wasn't much, but used to run a comfy shop One half fell down the hole, the till's still sitting up the top Now the Masters are in charge, it's rather dark the things they've barred But every market turns to black as soon as all the lights are off Portobello sort of fellow shifting stock down Shaftsbury Avenue Most coppers came a cropper so they stopped the ‘let's be having you' Random that they've banned them but I have accrued a map or two And since they took the signs the maps ain't half collecting value Counting off the days to die, it's a solitary life Can't help thinking maybe I should cop myself a wife An Eliza, Nellie, Nancy, here to hold me tight at night A lady's tastes is fancy but still coal is twice the price Oh wouldn't it be lovely to find a counterpart? ‘Cause I'd do anything to put love's fire in the hearth I can cook and I can clean but Neath be damned a man can dream Sell my soul but I won't ever fence my heart
CHORUS 1: Nothing left but crumbs down here in London Do what must be done to make ends meet Run in with the blunt end of a truncheon Closest thing I've had to love in weeks Doesn't mean a thing whose heights were wuthering Dumped down in the guttering, nouveau-riche Who you was before London went tumbling Doesn't matter squat to who you'll be
NARRATION 2: Now this here is one Miss Cassi Haversham... Life of the party and pulls a darned sight more than pints. Anybody who didn't lose everything lost something during the fall. But I should say they might have found a good deal more than they left behind...
VERSE 2: CASSIE HAVERSHAM Way up on the surface, chap by name of Clyde Clerking for a firm of vermin purely to provide For a wife who never liked him, every day was made to hide The other person, soft but certain, that resided deep inside Some may cast an eye but darling why should I? Be the prim and proper office boy for every passer-by? I give us a year, maybe two, if we're lucky then a few But the former me embraced the chance to die Clyde can take a backseat, Cassi's turn to drive Who can say on any day who gets the reins? Enjoy the ride! Now when it comes to who I am I wear the trousers (or I don't) Oh, darlin' won't you see that London's at its best de-gentrified? I gave love a go, nothing short of woe What's the sense repeating empty feelings stuck below? The high and mighty in the sky might find me Wildly improprietous but in a hole well how are they gonna' know? Done with companionship, hassle it brings Don't need the baggage that's strapped to a ring I'll take the packages, lay off the strings ‘Cause when they aren't attached it's my favourite thing
There are devils in the streets What's an extra in the sheets? Either way you'll be beneath, so take a fling
There's a sorry looking pantry and the kitchen's on the brink And I'm worried that they'll catch the taste of river in the drinks Not a sausage from Her Maj', it's like the riddle of the Sphynx Why she's holed up in her palace as her kingdom ever sinks? Hard to pay the rent at all when plagued by the nonsensical Daily an acquaintance twixt strange and the unmentionables Who can blame a dame in situations unconventional? Basement full of tentacles but waiting on a gent to call Or lady friend or several to get me through the nights To place me on a pedestal and set to seeing me right It pays to be quite flexible and truly, who am I? To cater to convention and eschew these new delights? If you came for documenting, tick whatever box you like You've got Pages full of questions but I left my lot behind They're praying for ascension but this bird ain't keen to flight It's a shame it took descent into the depths to see the light
CHORUS 2: Nothing much for fun down here in London Trot along the Thames, admire the views Stumble in and pass our evenings drunken Till the day the pubs run out of booze Sorry that we're out of grouse for Luncheon Suckle on your husk of crusted bread Hunger does a number down in London Watch you'll get a darker taste instead
Alright, alright, settle down you horrible lot! Settle down! Incorrigible the lot of ya! NARRATION 3: See that gentleman in the corner..? Yeah, The fancy sort? That is a Mister Byron Brimstone. Comes by on occasion, just watches folk, nary a word. But I'd wager your Ministry getup might just get his attention... Go and see if he'll indulge you…
VERSE 3: BYRON BRIMSTONE How quaint it is, are you the one they've sent to take a name? I'd say it if I could, but I might set the place aflame Metaphorically of course, you see I've rather gained a fame From Claridges's to Harrods , well, their charred, decayed remains I'm a landed man of standing known in every club still standing From the Abbey to the Strand you'll find my calendar demanding I'm a wit of high precision and my manners are enchanting As befitting my position as a real and human man-thing.
Tell me friend, have you heard the call to peep behind the veil? Tell me friend, do you hear the shadows sing? Tell me friend, do you think one day the demons might prevail? Tell me friend, do you believe in such a thing?
I'm an academic sport, quite despite my fine rapport See, my friend you're not the only one compiling a report Whilst the others at my station may not share my fascination Rest assured my occupation is the normal mortal sort You're a fascinating species (of which I am too of course) Blessed with soul so thick and treacly I could easily have it corked In the ceaseless stream of freakery the underneath has wrought It's not beast, the deep or bleak, but speak of love you seem to squawk Are your eyes not newly opened to this paradise you've found? This dark, arcane arcadia encaved beneath the ground? Where death as but a wheel within a wheel, spins ever-round Upon a mortal coil – a spring the likes of we have never wound? You're a cast of fools and bastards so disastrously inclined Though far more entertaining than the vast lot of my kind So feeble, weak and plebian, and yet you pique the mind Companions are beneath me, or perhaps they're ill-defined? You know the higher folds can tire, observing from above? Chance your wholesome little doldrum might just serve a spot of buzz? When it comes to baring souls I tend to keep things bottled up But perchance it may be droll to take a stroll amongst the rough
Go on, toddle on… I'll be seeing you…
BRIDGE: Every worried soul in this sorry hole Lost, forgotten and with all tomorrows stole Dead and buried but the dead are very much aware of it and hell, they've paid a horrid toll How'd we come to be? Down here underneath? Doubt we'll ever feel the sun upon our cheeks Never see another summer but we've one another Lust or comfort, love or some relief
Someone to hold me tightly Someone to treat me rightly Someone to come shun the ennui and the boredom With one to hold me closely Nights mightn't be so lonely Stranded helpless in the dark and reaching for them
London town laid to rest underground But yet still deeper down are we Falling, falling, falling, falling
VERSE 4: MR PAGES See them scurry as the rat within the maze Puzzulary and yet how they fascitate! Insignifiportant if cacophocordant Hunting for a heart to cherisffectionate Could they only see serendestiny Death and broken and dreams, hellish chemistries Their apocacylsm spawns a clockanism Requessary beyond their fathometry
Every infatutation Each glance of gladoration Toothsome cogs upon our grand enmachinations Each soul impassionated Hearts stole or lacerated Each tale impaled by the quill tip to the Pages
As the ink bleeds how I drink these Narratary little sips of histories Every skipped beat now to drip feed Something buried deep in enigmystery
All ends. Swords. Pens. Foretent. Phenomonition. Court then Torment Love's bent Definition
Cold and unprepared, wholly unawares Chronologging their enhidden love affairs They're a currency more potiont underneath And darker yet beyond that missing sun of theirs
CHORUS 3: When you've had to live your life in London You feel right at home with skies of grey Ever since the something took us under Well, a sky of stone looks quite the same Happens that your city's stuck and sunken Nothing to be done, so step in time Maybe what you'll find in Fallen London Might be more than what you left behind Ever now the sun's in down in London Up's a bunch of nothing, night and day Wonder what it was deep down here slumbering Till it came to take those skies away Stuck with some involuntary spelunking And you'll find the hole's too deep to climb But if you should rise from Fallen London, Maybe think of all you'll leave behind
Right, that's it! That's it everyone, last orders! You reprobates, last orders! Come on, I gotta get me' beauty sleep!
OUTRO NARRATION: There you have it my friend, I should say you'll have filled a fair few forms tonight and no mistake! The sun ought to be out soon. Not that we'll see the likes of it down here. Me? Oh, there's nought remarkable about Harry Teller worth noting down. Besides, I've been dead for a week. I feel alright now though. Whatcha, trah! READ ALL ABOUT IT! READ ALL ABOUT IT! Biscuit rations to increase by decree of the Masters! Baby found in spider's web!Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
