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Fionn Regan The End of History Put a Penny in the Slot I apologise, seem to have arrived, On what items in my bag from your house. There's cutlery, a tablecloth, some Hennessy, And a book on Presidents deceased. I'll have them fed-exed to you, It was a strange thing to do, I hope we can still be friends. Ah, it was not me, but someone else, you see, Twisting the steering reins. Put a penny in the slot and make an artificial li-ii-iight shine, Leave go-ooo. Mark old and line. I don't give advise, But be wise and think twice, Before getting involved in a game. Where the minority Face the majority, Who are faceless and born without names. Was it knock synch when we came across three men, They had church candles wrapped in newspaper. I bought two from them, And I'll lit one for you, I hope the message made it's way down the wire. Put a penny in the slot and make an artificial li-ii-iight shine, Leave go-ooo. Mark old and line. The soul of a dog, he's alive and not gone To the farm like the others said. A Rhodesian richback, Off the beaten track, In a furniture shop down on the quays. For the lonliness you foster, I suggest Paul Oster, A book called Timbuktu. Put a penny in the slot and watch the Drunken sailor boy dance. She will not let you be Her lov-ver. She goes out looking for The taxi. Her phone is ringing straight to Message-minder. Send out a battalion to Find her. Put a penny in the slot and count the Swans through a te-elescope. I can't help from cryin' I wish you were mine. When I was seventeen, I followed my dream, Up into a high-rise block. The adventures of Augie March, By Saul Bel-low, Was all I had for company. At night time I'd lie In Beckingham pike, With tears like flashbulbs. And recall my treasure- Searching days, In the rock pools as a kid. To the remains of The cherub plains, Or around the bonfire in Nailors’ cove. Good company and grief Sit like a dark leaf, Sits beside a singing nett-le. Put a penny in the slot and make an artificial li-ii-iight shi-iine, Leave go-ooo. My golden arm |
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