Red Kites.
 
 
 
Lost in some Roundhouse,
as the Fairground Dome,
they played all-night,
it was Greece.
 
I'll give my love,
to anyone who's been mad,
dancin' away glad.
 
Friends lining the brook satires,
all was squat and revolution cares, 
the pears fell of the tree,
all was thee.
 
Thinkin' of you with my first automatic washing machine,
we could  have taken a machine gun nest on Vimmy Ridge, 
that's the way to do it,
soft shoe it.
 
Playing for free,
to our disastered company.
 
 
I told him to turn the amps on,
we sang to half a million people,
believing that it would be true.
 
That universe of the mind,
all is kind.
 
Let's get out of the forest,
the cows sing gently,
on edge city,
for crazy that pity.
 
In search of space,
the human race.
 
And you shouldn't do that.
 
 
fin

 
Friday 10th August 2007. 
For Nik Turner and Hawkwind.