It’s a laughing town underneath the frowns Of the bleak and desperate souls As they trudge around and the rain pours down On their leaky umbrellas full of holes And they’re all flat broke and forlorn But they crack a joke to keep them warm As they wander home to draughty rooms On bitter winter afternoons. From the tired old bridge where the suicides jump And the blues are on patrol Where the rain pours down on the desperate souls With the leaky umbrellas full of holes Where bad news cuts you like a knife And a good laugh just might save your life It’s a giggling town, it’s a chuckling place Under every mournful face. Through foundation stones and graveyard bones Rose the heckling of the droll As the rain poured down on the desperate souls With the leaky umbrellas full of holes. The philosopher in the cold grey dawn He rose up to face the morn With his explanations gone astray And a filthy joke to start the day. I left that town on a budget flight For a few weeks on parole As the rain poured down on the desperate souls With the leaky umbrellas full of holes Where the drinks are dear but the jokes are free And they all resort to mockery To warm their frozen hearts and thumbs While waiting for the spring to come.

Don’t leave your husband in winter, she said, When the frost’s on the ground and the flowers are dead And the friends that you stay with all live on the edge And they don’t like to spend much on heating. When the streets are so cold and the winds are severe And the friendly socialites all disappear No you better wait till the right time of year, she said, Don’t leave your husband in winter. If you leave your husband don’t do it in spring When the small sparrows all whistle and sing For the wounds that you suffer will blister and sting To the sight of the daffodils growing. When sweet optimism goes round like the flu But you won’t have caught it cause you’ll be so blue And no one will have time for a killjoy like you, she said, Don’t leave your husband in springtime. Don’t leave your husband in summer, she cried, When the necklines are low and the grass verges wide And young lovers are sprawled about whispering lies And it makes you feel sick just to see them. And when all of your therapists have abandoned you Some gone to St Lucia and some to Corfu While you sit and wait for divorce to come through She said, don’t leave your husband in summer. And don’t leave your husband in autumn, she begged, For the leaves will turn brown and fall down your head And the bags that you’ve packed will feel heavy as lead With the weight of emotions decaying. Now all her advice left a dent in my ear She said, think it over, don’t hurry my dear But that was twenty five years ago and I’m still here Waiting for the right time year. So if you want to leave a husband or wife It’s best to ignore everybody’s advice Just pack up your toothbrush and run for your life Be it autumn, spring, summer or winter.

I was born way down in a valley I was born in a valley so small Far away from civilisation Hardly knew the wide world at all When I was a child I played by the river I played by the river so wild Then I grew up to be a childless mother Childless mother and a motherless child. The raging waters of Waitaki Sing your song to me I’ll come back when I’m old and cranky I’ll come back when I’m 93 I’ll come back to drown in the river Float down over mossy stones I’ll be a spirit of the water The river it will guard my bones. Ancestors are dead and buried Ancestors are dead and gone It’s generations since they travelled Far from their ancient home History has been forgotten Got no stories got no songs They lost touch with where they came from I know where I belong. I grew up to be a childless mother Lived a life so free and wild Years went by and as it happens I became a motherless child Got no roots, I got no branches Got no ties to keep me here And when I’m gone there’ll be nothing left Just a ripple in the atmosphere. I was born way down in a valley I was born in a valley so small Far away from civilisation Hardly knew the wide world at all. When I was a child I played in the hills I roamed the hills so wild Then I grew up to be a childless mother A childless mother and a motherless child. The rugged hills of North Otago Are the hills that made me wild Where the wind sings like a ghostly spirit To the young and undefiled I’ll go back to die in the hills And lay down in the rocks and stones I’ll be a spirit of the land The hills will guard my bones.

He said “life is not bad But I think that it could be better” Then he wrote it all down In a rambling, voluminous letter Which he posted to newspaper editors Without restraint It was his gift to mankind, An infinite list of complaints. He’d written a list of complaints Everyday of his life About everything From the war in Iraq to his wife Apart from that His literary skills were unspent But for one shopping list And a postcard that never got sent. Chorus There goes Mr Rodriguez, He don’t claim to be no saint And he’s off down the road And he's waving his list of complaints. He’ll try not to annoy you But sometimes it’s hard ‘cause he finds Change is slow in this world And he’s running out of time Well he’s tried to be grateful And satisfied with what he’s got But settling for less than perfection Don’t achieve a lot. Anyone can see This is not how we humans evolve In a world of discrepancies And problems to solve. But the politicians Threw his lists of complaints in the rubbish Of the ones that he sent to the papers Just two got published At the social services They’d hide when he came to their door Even British telecom sales said “Don’t phone him up anymore.” Mr Rodriguez, Everyone gets out of his way He was bright as a button At 89 years to the day. He kept all his marbles Complaining kept him on his toes He was a little unpopular But that’s just how life goes. On the day he died He wrote the world’s longest list of complaints Propped up in bed in St Thomas’s Feeling quite faint He wrote it so fast It was a wonder to see him I hope they put it in glass On display at the British Museum.

Your homeland was in despair How did you ever get out of there You crossed the sea in open boats And prayed that you would stay afloat Washed up safe on the Spanish shore Now you dare to ask for more A life is a life, that’s what you get Life don’t come with a safety net You’re just spreading your soul around Cause it’s all that you’ve got to share Just wandering round and round Looking for a home somewhere So you travelled further on Hiding in the transit van Crossed the channel from Calais Into this over crowed land And a life is a life that’s what you get Not the promise of a home or a place on earth Life don’t come with a safety net Just flesh and bone and the naked earth Your childhood is left behind But you remember who you are Your country’s lost in time An international faux pas You may have journeyed here from hell Through famine, flood and bloody war Now you arrive with nothing to sell On our streets and at our door And a life is a life that’s what we get Not the right to say what a life is worth Not the right to tell someone they have No right to a home or a place on earth Your culture is strange round here Your religion is foreign too There’s too many Gods with different rules Which one should we listen too ? Of all the cultures to be seen Which defines the human being ? Which religon tells the truth To it’s children and it’s youth That a life is a life , that’s what we get Not the promise of a home or a place on earth Life don’t come with a safety net Just flesh and bone and the naked earth

He was wearing teapot slippers On the day that we first met Psychedelic teapot slippers With green toggles on the zippers He was like a wide umbrella In those days of teacup storms And when the weather wasn’t warm His fireplace it always glowed We sat among the cinders But we didn’t burn our toes So it goes, that old conundrum Why do love affairs go humdrum ? I’m sorry, but it drove me balmy I regret, I gave his teapot slippers To the salvation army. When I told him what I’d done His bright face it fell apart Blizzards blew in from the arctic Drainpipes froze and icy roads Shut down the access to his heart. Now I’ve been searching high and low To replace the teapot slippers But so far, all I’ve got to show Is this old pair of plastic flippers Suffice to say, he’s not impressed But I’m so charming, he’ll forgive me And , though he’s still not at his best, At least he’s stopped trying to kill me.

When I think of home what springs to mind Is the vege garden and the washing line And the compost heap by the wooden fence And the mashed potatoes and the common sense. When I think of you what springs to mind Is the vege garden and the washing line Hanging out the clothes in horizontal rows While the sprinkler splutters on the garden hose. I got a photograph if you want to see A crop of vegetables from 1963 And it’s hanging up on the walls of time The vege garden and the washing line And the compost heap by the wooden fence And the mashed potatoes and the common sense. It’s easy living there that’s how it goes You don’t appreciate what’s underneath your nose You get a little cash and you evacuate Never mind the plane fares or the exchange rate. We’ll use a visa card if all else fails ‘Look now Mum we’re on the tourist trail And before you know , you’ve been gone so long You can’t remember who you are or where you’re from And when you get back home, it’s strange To find everyone’s moved away or died or changed. I got your photograph that I keep with me Because it keeps you living in my memory On a sunny day at Momerangi Bay When the wind blew all the broken clouds away. I went overseas for much too long And when I came back you were forever gone But in the space and time continuum There’s a warp where you are still alive and young And I can see you there if I fix my mind On the vege garden and the washing line. And I’ve been stuck in London in a tiny flat Where there’s hardly room enough to swing a cat And the washing dries hanging on a broom Or on a piece of string strung across the room I’ve seen the seven wonders of the world, but see I could have stayed at home and seen them on TV I could have stayed at home with the breezes flyin’ Round the washing dryin’ in the warm sunshine.

There was a man who’d had enough Of possessions and all that stuff He took refuge in empty space He fell out with the human race He was a man who spoke few words He ate as little as a bird There was nothing on his shopping list So he called himself a minimalist, oh yeh ! But the minimalist stuffed up his life He married a shopaholic wife Who came laden in great force With a house and a Lambourgine and a horse And a concrete mixer in the yard And a concrete elephant in the garden, Useless bric- a- brac galore Stacked on the shelves and on the floors And on top of all the cupboards Crap, designer travel luggage Full of dresses bigger and smaller In case she got shorter or thinner or taller, A telescope for inspecting the neighbours, A flick knife, two pistols and a packet of razors, Hats in colours bright and gay Which everyone sat on ‘cause she wouldn’t put them away. And there they lived in harmony For about 2 weeks (or was it 3 ?) When he got sick of all the clutter And removed it to the gutter And the shopaholic shopped all day For stuff which the minimalist chucked away And round and round went all the junk From the department store to the rubbish dump, oh yeh ! And the minimalist stuffed up his life. He married a shopaholic wife Who owned every appliance Ever known to modern science. In every corner of the kitchen Gizmos of every description, Pop up toasters on the blink, And popcorn makers in the sink. So when the neighbours came to tea They sat upon each other’s knee Eating packaged things like onion rings Or takeaways from Burger King While the minimalist sat in the corner Eating brown rice cooked on a Bunsen burner Amidst the hats in colours bright and gay Which everyone sat on cause, she wouldn’t put them away. Now the minimalist escaped into the garden shed With the ruminations in his head Where he could meditate upon a flower Or watch a bumble bee for an hour. But the shopoholic she got tough, She filled his garden shed with stuff, Which made him feel so melancholic That he became an alcoholic, And he drank her collection of fine wines And all the cooking sherry that he could find And he drank so much that in the end There was no money left to spend So the minimalist ended up a cynic Shacked up in the rehab clinic While the shopaholic got so flustered That she went shoplifting and got busted, oh yeh ! And the minimalist stuffed up his life. He married a shopaholic wife Who’s shopping sprees were so unruly, She bought loads of expensive jewellery. She put the silver and the gold In a bomb proof safe so it wouldn’t get stolen. On top of that she piled shoe boxes With more shoes than Imelda Marcos And on top of that a cuckoo clock And a golf club set she bought from Argos Which fell down on the Steinway Grand And smashed the antique umbrella stand And the pedestal that she balanced a vase on And the exercycle for hanging her bras on And the hats in colours bright and gay Which everyone sat on ‘cause she wouldn’t put them away.

What did she do with her life, she laughed at it What did she do with her time, she watched the clock What did she do with her money, she drank it What did she do with her hands, she twiddled her thumbs What did she do with her heart , she gave it to Any one who was the slightest bit grateful. Same as you and I ? No not the same just a little bit different Same resemblance, no similarity Same difference, no disparity Six of one, half a dozen of the other Poles apart, yet always close together Except for all the details just the same as you and I. What did he do for his country, he fought for it What did he do with his time , it was stolen What did he do with his money, he had none What did he do with his mind, he asked questions What did he do with his heart, it was shattered by A bullet on a battlefield far from his homeland. Same crap, different quantity Same wealth, unevenly divided Same worth, different equality Same love, randomly confided Same freedom, different restrictions Same truths, different contradictions. What did she do all her days, she endured them What did she do with her mind, she was worried What did she do with her money, she spent it All on food for her hungry children What did she do with her heart, she was faithful To her hopes for change and her dreams of freedom.