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lyrics

Your interpretation needs a physicist
A strategician, a master of chess
There's no procure for your conceit
I need salvation, a place to retreat

When you're down on your rounds reaperman
Won't you carry me home

Your inquisition needs an evangelist
An apprehension, a sentence for the thief
You prostrate my body and broke my knees
Took away the bible, withheld my belief

When your down on your rounds reaperman
Won't you carry me home

You gotta keep the fire down in the hole
Forge the crucible, blaspheme the soul
Don't need no saviour to feed me my bread
Got money in my pockets, ideas in my head

When your down on your rounds reaperman
Won't you carry me home

(..When you gonna hit the highway blues
You know you're gonna have to hit and run
Walk beneath the midday sun..)

..You gotta keep the fire down in the hole
Forge the crucible, blaspheme the soul
Don't need no saviour to feed you your bread
Got money in the pocket, ideas in your head

credits

from On the Bangkok Balcony, released May 10, 2020

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about

Tatchell and the Tambourine England, UK

We don't listen to music anymore, we listen to song.
Don't go anymore,
Except where we belong.
But I know a Gym
Called Whisky and Gin
A full deck only
The Big man 'll
Let you in
There is no end
Or place to begin
Or even win
Only a whole glass
Half full of Slim
And a friendly soul
Who no doubt you'll
Know not at all
But let's call him Jim
For he wears a grin.
... more

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