Sweetside Silver Night
Tim Bowness
the road to hell is paved
with the souls of old failed singers
the wild, wild eyes, the non stop whys -
the dreadful songs they bring us.
their get up and go
makes me lie down and die.
their pug ugly row
makes the little ones cry.
sweetside silver night
sheds her skin in the cold spotlight.
sweetside silver night -
it's in the colour of her hair.
tired of losing face
and lost in summer thunder,
casual attire with no spare tyre,
you sit at home and wonder.
sweetside silver night
spills her gin in the pale moonlight.
sweetside silver night -
it's in the way she never cares.