http://bigreddoor.wordpress.com/

Saturday’s Secret Cabaret is a particular favourite (and I’m often storytelling in one form or another there…)

Get there now (BYOB until Dec 11th to avoid being crushed by the bureaucratic boot of Doom.)

It really is the most glorious place to be and feels like home. Consider yourself telt.

Well, I’ve been down to the ashram
And I’ve worn the orange robes.
I’ve closed my eyes and visualised
Seven spinning, shining globes.
But, you know it doesn’t change a single thing,
However much I try,
(Because) I feel like I’m a hundred and five
And I think I’m gonna die.

I’ve been painted green and wrestled,
I’ve worn a crown of thorns;
I’ve fought with sword and staff and axe
With the hunter and his horns.
But whether I’m the sacrifice
Or being carried up on high,
I still feel like I’m a hundred and five
And I think I’m gonna die.

Now the Black Block’s throwing missiles
And the clowns are throwing flowers;
The police and politicians
Are invoking extra powers;
Now some folks are saying
that Armageddon’s surely nigh;
Oh man, I feel like I’m a hundred and five
And everyone’s gonna die…

The bank-man’s got me twisted,
He’s got me by the balls;
He sends a thousand letters
And makes a thousand calls.
I’m so goddamn broke it hurts,
And money just passes me by.
I feel like I’m a hundred and five
And I wish that I could die.

Well, my woman’s gone half-crazy
At the terrible fix we’re in.
It’s all that I can do these days
To keep her from drowning in gin.
Coz you know it doesn’t help us,
If we drink or we get high.
Sweet mama, I feel like I’m a hundred and five
And I think we’re gonna die.

Well, my brother’s lost in Peebles,
My brother’s in Peru;
They’re both as broke as I am;
Ain’t nothing they can do.
I’m overloaded with all this talent,
But the well is running dry;
Lord, I feel like I’m a hundred and five
And I think I’m gonna die.

My books just can’t get published
All my story’s told for free;
I can’t afford to pay my rent;
Gonna live in a fucking tree.
But even that won’t help me
In a tree-house in the sky.
Ah shit, I feel like I’m a hundred and five
And I think I’m gonna die.

But cursing’s not the way ahead,
Nor moaning all the time;
No matter just how goddamn hard it gets,
It just seems to be a crime;
I’ll just keep treading onwards
You know it’s not a lie;
If I live ’til I’m a hundred and five,
well hoka hey, sweet mortal life,
I’ll give thanks and praise
Even in the pitch-black dark, because
One day I’m gonna die.