No Particular Street
Patrick Cannell © 1997
Man alive,
You don't know what you've got until you've lost the bloody lot.
Man adead,
You don't know what you're missing till you see two lovers kissing when they meet
And the pavement hardly notices their feet,
All smiles when each both they the other greet
And it doesn't have to be a particular street.
Man of blood,
They say that souls in hell have never had it quite so good.
Man of hope,
They say that heaven's promise is a provincial suburb so give me rope,
I'll hang my hesitations and elope.
Give me revelation, give me scope.
And it doesn't have to be a particular pope.
Don't get mad with me, Ma.
Don't get mad with me.
All I did was to set them free.
And the street litter will get out of the way.
No, nothing's going to trip you up today.
And there's nowhere left for you to go astray.
Man aground,
You don't know what you've found until it's no longer around.
Man afloat,
You don't know what you're missing till you see two lovers drifting in a boat
And the river hardly notices their oars.
All smiles when each both they the other pause
And it doesn't have to take a particular course.
Don't get mad with me, Ma.
Don't get mad with me.
All I did was to set them free.
Don't get cross with me, Ma.
Don't get cross with me, no.
What I am is all I'll be.