What did I do
scruple tango
weird people
belly button
black and white
indigenous creature

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What did I do

A tiny person in a world that is small.
A little walk across the top of a wall.
An item in a big computer recall.
I donít want to get used to it.

Going to sleep is just eating up time.
Clocking away in the head like a mine.
Looking for normal and there is not a sign.
What did I do to deserve ?

Inside the memory is a fact that its gone.
Just scraps of happening are tagging along.
Theres people telling me the whole things a con.
I donít want to get used to it.

Going to die, going to die and its good.
Mud into fishes into men into mud.
Stop all the breathing turn the pump off the blood,
What did I do to deserve ?

(One passing peasant has the answer in his jacket,
Two wise Ethiopians know the truth but will not say,
Three old age pensioners are putting the clock back,
Four five six seven weeks in a day.

Coming and going with the shape of the moon.
Fly over needles in a sinking balloon.
Singing along but never knowing the tune.
I donít wanna get used to it !

Go to the doctor and he says "Never mind."
"There's nothing wrong except a hole in the spine."
Oh yes I know its just a matter of time - but -What did I do to deserve ? ! ?! ?! ?! ?!

Burning Towers

Scruple tango
listen to tango


Outside, beyond the world that we've invented.
Within, inside the space that's unfrequented,
walk angels describing patterns of their own,
and we think we are alone.

Fantasy head, beyond the world of mathematics,
Your figures revolve in a chaos so ecstatic.
Look into my eyes - is there a logic inside my pupils ?
Prey for my soul, I am beside my self with scruples.

Don't purr, you'll put me off my concentration.
Don't eat my head, until I've done the preparation.
I've faced the facts, now I must analyse the data.
And spout out stuff, neither inventor or creator.

By night, behind the nothing of the sky.
By day, under the burning of the eye,
Lay visions that are screaming to be seen,
But we, we always think that it's a dream.

Burning Towers

Weird people

I've always been attracted to weird people,
I like to give them lifts in my car,
You know the weird thing about weird people is just how weird they are.
There was the boy who shaved his eye brows all the way.
The man with the Devil in his hand of glove gray.
The skinhead who showed us his tattoos and tracks.
He said "I could mug you, then I'd pay you back".
I've always been attracted to weird people,
I like to give them lifts in my car,
You know the weird thing about weird people is just how weird they are.
There's the man who's an angel in Tasmania.
The neurotic reflexologist with every kind of mania.
There's Barry and Bob the gay builders on cider.
And the woman with a diet of bananas and spider.
I've always been attracted to weird people,
I like to give them lifts in my car,
You know the weird thing about weird people is just how weird they are.
There was the pink rastafarian preacher of Pendle Hill.
The hippies who wont take medicines when they're ill.
Stephenage Phil and his I will not speak day.
The Crabtree children and their Ouija board tea tray.
I've always been attracted to weird people,
I like to give them lifts in my car,
You know the weird thing about weird people is just how weird they are.
The Chilean revolutionary into Kevin Keegan.
The alcoholic tobacco smoking health freak vegan.
The pagans who worship the moon when the Sun's out.
And all the other people that you meet with their thumbs out.
I've always been attracted to weird people,
I like to give them lifts in my car,
You know the weird thing about weird people is just how weird they are.

By Burning Tower

Black&white

Black and white,
Politically correct but that's just polite.
'Cause in the night,
walks the witch hunter
In his hand he holds on tighter to his anger.
Beware,
Of who and what he points his pointing finger at.
'Cause there,
Is what and who and how he hates.
From his arm,
Vents the venom of a vengeance of a fascist.
From his other arm,
A bastard nation feels the call of a father.
And in it's trail,
Lay the bodies of the different and defenseless.
It isn't a dream,
It's a real and body bloody matter.
War of the worlds.
What the world seems to need the world seems to learn the hard way.

By Broggz

Belly button

What's inside a bedroom ?
What's inside a kitchen ?
The sweeping of a dead broom.
The disher washer machine.
A heater with no fire.
A home without a Homo.
A bed without a lier.
The soul of Yoko Ono.
If you think that this is a robots world, come on,
Touch your belly button.
If you think there is nothing left to learn,
It's all you need to know.
Your belly button is the lifeline to the species.
The kiss of MuMa nature.
The lesson that she teaches,
The sign she doesn't hate ya.
But you've got dogma on your shoe souls.
A fog across your eye balls.
Miss diagnose with screwballs,
With the aid of dodgy bibles.
If you don't know where your from, come on,
Check your belly button.
And if you think that every thing is going wrong,
come on,
Your belly button never lies, unlike our leaders,
Who pretend to represent us.
They take the food we need to feed us,
And put it all into shopping centers.
So do not heed the rich and famous,
Nor the uniformed protectors.
Thier intention is to tame us.
Put us in our sectors.
So if you think your all alone, come on.
So if you think your made of stone , come on.
Touch your belly button.

Indigenous creature

Indigenous creature of a new town,
This is the sound that I get off on.
I look to the mirror to see if its clearer where I'm coming from.
A diet of Pepsi Satchi&Satchi and is what I grew up on.
I'm a council shaman a mystic layman, Buddha in a modern world.
"get around town and add your voice to the sound of the crowd."
Take the esoteric I wanna share it, take it out on to the street.
Take Trace' and Terry to the Alta its on the mantle piece.
For these are my people - this is the jungle - I'm just one of the tribe.
I learnt to hate them - ran away some - ran away some,
Then I really missed them.
"Get around town add your voice to the sound of the crowd."
My blood is from London, then from Ireland, then God knows where I really come from.
My roots are a fusion, a confusion, I think I'm some sort of Celtic European modern.
"get around town and add your voice to the sound of the crowd."

ZpriNg

ZpRlNg Zpring We know thereís more to come,
Thereís nothing But the new.
The structureís reached old age,
Itís time to turn the page,
In the kook
ABout a life
that does not change.

Raize The dust and set to sail
Thereís nothing But to go.
To a brighter green
We need a change of seen.
I wiLL be cLear
We need a rest
Just Like a change.

Now The peopLe have Been shocked
The Buildings have gone Boom.
The bomB that shook the cage.
The crimes of peoples rage.
I will be Brave
In the fear
Of change.

Brian's Field of view Music of Brian Field and collaberators

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