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I used to drive for a living, hairy arms fed the wheel thorough my palms |
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Twitching feet made patterns on pedals, reflexes honed in a twice-failed test |
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The pay man Lance kept me elastic bound in the echelons of West One |
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Slim chance of the odd long journey kept me clinging to him for too long |
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Locked in a car all day, came home and worked on Children At Play |
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I had no deal then, but I had fifty blank tapes in a bag waiting |
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I knew it wouldn't be long before I wrote Carbon Cones |
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Only last week, I noticed that the colours of the |
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Lights in my studio are the same as the ones you conjure in my mind |
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(Yellow and green, green pea green, cherry red and red and blue) |
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When my Amiga reads from a disk you know the |
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Green fills the room and your long summer dress fills my mind |
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My other jobs were none to speak of: "Make a coffee for the man in Avid One |
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Drop these lunches off then take this Betacam to a place on Dean Street" |
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Most posts seemed to involve the lifting of heavy boxes |
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A man of such small frame as I broke into several sweats a day |
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Whilst failing to procure even the hint of any musculature improvement |
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Heavy-lifting days are in the bin now, but I still dip into tempting |
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Wearing the odd suit, attending the odd interview |
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Subsidising the drum programming you hear today |
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Only last week, I noticed that the colours of the |
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Lights in my studio are the same as the ones you conjure in my mind |
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(Yellow and green, green pea green, cherry red and red and blue) |
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Just yesterday I was woken by a flashing of a |
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Light from my studio confirming that this timestretch was complete |
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Only last week, I noticed that the colours of the |
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Lights in my studio are the same as the ones you conjure in my mind |
