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Fishing for Amour
Woolly Sheepsong
When You're Lying Awake
Always Leave 'Em Laughin'/Life's A Funny Proposition
Mythic Times
The French Paratrooper
Come Again, Sweet Love Doth Now Invite
Parisian Pierrot
Councilhouse in Gabarone
Back In Your Own Back Yard
Old Mister Soul

Secrets in the Sand
The Way You Look Tonight
Facts of Us

"Fishing For Amour"

(words and music by Mike Craver)
Sheet music for FISHING FOR AMOUR is available here.

Bells are ringing in the morning
I hear noises in the street
Lady upstairs is waking up
I hear the noise of feet
Glance at the clock one more time
Smoke another cigarette
Haven’t slept in 24 hours and I’m not sleepy yet
Bells are ringing for Pentecost
The grocer opens his door
I’ve spend all my sleepy-time
Fishing for amour

Cut my bait so carefully
Dangle it on a string
Line my picnic basket
With ham and tangerine
Won’t take no for an answer
Philosophize with the best
Lost my heart to a dancer
Lost my goodnight’s rest
Waiter pours a glass of wine
About the hour of four
I’ve spent all my summer time
Fishing for amour

Smiling faces on the people I see
Scurrying down the street
The world seems so alive
But man, I sure feel beat
If the lines of my story
Were etched upon my face
If desire could equal glory
I’d run a victory race
Napping through the business hours
I haven’t done a single chore
I’ve just been sleep-walking
Fishing for amour

"Woolly Sheepsong"

(music by Mike Craver, words by Tommy Thompson and Mike Craver)

One night about three,
I took the IRT
A girl sat across the aisle
Beside her shoes, a pair of hooves
I pinched myself, was I asleep?
With runny eyes and pointy feet
It was a worried, working sheep

In towers of steel, some men make deals
To cover the slaughter of sheep
But through love and genes
This girl had means
To give THE TIMES a leak
And oh, the pity of the feast
The sad, sad tale of that poor beast

Have you seem Mister Woolly Sheep?
Well, they sell him high and they guy him cheap
And they stab his heart and they cook his meat
Hear him squall
And oh the squealing of the wheel
In catacombs of chrome and steel

At West Broadway, two men in grey
Sat next to the girl and the sheep
Above the clatter of the rails
They shouted back and forth a tale
Of life and death and love affairs
And underneath a subway car
They found his body caked with tar

Have you see Mister Woolly Sheep?
Well, they sell him high and they buy him cheap
And they stab his heart and they cook his meat
Down on Wall Street
Had a wife and a woolly lamb
And they wheeled around in a woolly pram
And their woolly pram caused a traffic jam
Down on Wall Street

"When You're Lying Awake"

(words by W.S. Gilbert, music by Sir Arthur Sullivan)

When you're lying awake with a dismal headache, and repose is taboo'd by anxiety,
I conceive you may use any language you choose to indulge in, without impropriety;
For your brain is on fire—and the bedclothes conspire of your usual slumber to plunder you:
First your counterpane goes, and uncovers your toes, and your sheet slips demurely from under you;
And your blanketing tickles— it feel like mixed pickles—so terribly sharp is the pricking,
And you're hot, and you're cross, and you tumble and toss till there's nothing 'twixt you and the ticking.
Well the bedclothes all creep to the ground in a heap, and you pick 'em all up in a tangle;
And your pillow resigns and politely declines to remain at its usual angle!
Well, you get some repose in the form of a doze, with hot eye-balls and head ever aching.
And your slumbering teems with such horrible dreams that you'd very much better be waking;

For you dream you are crossing the Channel, and tossing about in a steamer from Harwich—
Which is something between a large bathing machine and a very small second-class carriage—
And you're giving a treat (penny ice and cold meat) to a party of friends and relations—
They're a ravenous horde—and they all came on board at Sloane Square and South Kensington Stations.
And bound on that journey you find your attorney (who started that morning from Devon);
He's a bit undersized, and you don't feel surprised when he tells you he's only eleven.
Well, you're driving like mad with this singular lad (by the by, the ship's now a four-wheeler),
And you're playing round games, and he calls you bad names when you tell him that "ties pay the dealer";
But this you can't stand, so you throw up your hand, and you find you're as cold as an icicle,
In your shirt and your socks (the black silk with gold clocks), crossing Salisbury Plain on a bicycle:

And he and the crew are on bicycles too—which they've somehow or other invested in—
And he's telling the tars all the particulars of a company he's interested in—
It's a scheme of devices, to get at low prices all goods from cough mixtures to cables
(Which tickled the sailors), by treating retailers as though they were all vegetables—
Then you get a good spadesman to plant a small tradesman (first take off his boots with a boot-tree),
And his legs will take root, and his fingers will shoot, and they'll blossom and bud like a fruit-tree—
From the greengrocer tree you get grapes and green pea, cauliflower, pineapple, and cranberries,
While the pastrycook plant cherry brandy will grant, apple puffs, and three corners, and Banburys—
And the shares are a penny, and ever so many are taken by Rothschild and Baring,
And just as a few are allotted to you, you awake with a shudder despairing—

You're a regular wreck, with a crick in your neck,
And no wonder you snore, for your head's on the floor,
And you've needles and pins from your soles to your shins,
And your flesh is a-creep, for your left leg's asleep,
And you've cramp in your toes, and a fly on your nose,
And some fluff in your lung, and a feverish tongue,
And a thirst that's intense, and a general sense that you haven't been sleeping in clover;
But the darkness has passed, and it's daylight at last,
And the night has been long—ditto ditto my song—
And thank goodness they're both of them over!

"Always Leave 'Em Laughin'"/"Life's A Funny Proposition"

by George M. Cohan, from the musical LITTLE JOHNNY JONES

My dad would never preach to me, in fact he'd never teach to me
About the things that I should do when I'd go here and there
"In fact," he said "you're on your own, you have ideas of your own
You'll never lose if you will use the other fair and square."
That's just as far as he'd advise, until one day to my surprise
I went to say that I was going to foreign lands to live
And with a tear-drop in his eye, as I went to say goodbye
Said he "My lad, that's too bad. I've some advice to give:

Always leave 'em laughin' when you say goodbye
Never linger long about or else you'll wear your welcome out
When you meet a fellow with a tear-dimmed eye
You can leave him laughin' if you try
When he tells his troubles, interrupt him with a joke
Tell him one he's never heard, and he'll declare that it's a bird
When he's giggling good you know, then that's the time to turn and go
Always leave 'em laughin' when you say good-bye

Life's a very funny proposition after all
Imagination, jealousy, hypocrisy, and gall
Three meals a day, a whole lot to say
When you haven't got the coin you're always in the way.
Everybody's fighting as we wend our way along
Every fellow claims the other fellow's in the wrong
Hurried and worried, until we're buried
There's no curtain call
Life's a very funny proposition after all

Life's a very funny proposition you can bet
And no one's ever solved the problem properly as yet
Young for a day, then old and grey
Like the rose that buds and blooms and fades and falls away
Losing health in search of wealth as through this dream we tour
Everything's a guess and nothing's absolutely sure
Battles exciting and fate's we're fighting until the curtains fall
Life's a very funny proposition after all

"Mythic Times"

words and music by Robin Williamson

These are the mythic times when gods and heroes live
The thirsty earth can suck up blood, as fast as we can give
With equal power for every hour to fight what fate debars
With eyes that echo all night long the pale light of the stars

These are the mythic times when hope builds ladders and keys
And the world soul unfolds its wings in simple mystery
The air is filled with melodious forms
Truth burns hot and cold
These are the mythic times, this is the age of gold

"The French Paratrooper"

words and music by Mike Craver
Sheet music for THE FRENCH PARATROOPER is available here.

My name is Mohammed, I'm from the oasis
My country is torn by a long civil war
A great foreign power was sent in to help us
With armored vehicles and weapons of war

Each day in the desert I stand at attention
To the French paratrooper straight backed and strong
He patiently shows me the armored vehicles
But I see by his eyes that he longs to be home

The rebels are probing the government red line
The aircraft are silent, the guns do not roar
They call it a cease-fire but I know the danger
My friends that have died there, in the A-zone
But all that I see is the French paratrooper
His face to the desert, sad and alone

I grew up in farmland of stouthearted people
Proud of their country, proud of their school
But I want to see those big cities in Europe
The bright TV music, the glittering throng

With people like people you see in the movies
The French paratrooper, straight backed and strong
I'd say something to him to make him feel better
He'd be my companion; he'd take me along

His men came to get him to go to N'Djamena
A weekend on furlough, they'd take him along
They speak their own language; their eyes are on Paris
And the girls they would find in the glittering throng

But I am his duty as part of the army
They are his friends, his home and his song
His eyes that don't find me surely have let me
Forever to stray and to wander alone
Alone, alone…

"Come Again Sweet Love Doth Now Invite"

(words and music by John Dowland)
Sheet music for COME AGAIN, SWEET LOVE DOTH NOW INVITE is available here.

Come again: Sweet love doth now invite
Thy graces that refrain to do me due delight
To see, to hear, to touch, to kiss, to die
With thee again in sweetest sympathy

Come again That I may cease to mourn
Through thy unkind disdain
For now left and forlorn
I sit, I sigh, I weep, I faint, I die
In deadly pain and endless misery

All the day the sun that lends me shine
By frowns do cause me pine
And feeds me with delay
Your smiles, the springs that make my joy to grow
You frown the winters of my woe

All the night my sleeps are full of dreams
My eyes are full of streams
My heart takes no delight
To see the fruits and joys that some do find
And mark the storms are me assigned

Out alas, my faith is ever true
Yet will you never rue
Nor yield me any grace
Your eyes of fire, your heart of flint is made
Whom tears nor truth may once invade

Gentle Love, Draw forth thy wounding dart
You cannot pierce my heart
For I that to approve
By sighs and tears more hot than are your shafts
Did tempt while you for triumph laughed

"Parisian Pierrot"

(words and music by Noel Coward
from the musical LONDON CALLING)

Fantasy in olden days
In varying and different ways
Was very much in vogue
Columbine and Pantaloon
A wistful Pierrot 'neath the moon
A Harlequin, a rogue
Nowadays Parisians of leisure
Wake the echo of an old refrain
Each some ragged effigy will treasure For his pleasure
Till the shadows of their story live again

Parisian Pierrot
Society's hero
The Lord of a day
The Rue de la Paix
Is under your sway
The world may flatter
But what does that matter
They'll never shatter
Your gloom profound

Parisian Pierrot
Your spirit's at zero
Divinely forlorn
With exquisite scorn
From sunset to dawn
The limbo is calling
Your fate will be falling
As soon as the clock goes round

Mournfulness has always been
The keynote of a Pierrot scene
When passion plays a part
Pierrot in a tragic pose
Will kiss a faded silver rose
With sadness in his heart
Then one day he'll leave his tears behind him
Comedy comes laughing down the street
Columbine will fly to him
Admiring and desiring
Laying love and adoration at his feet



words and music by Mike Craver

I lost my wits in Spoonyland, in ordering bacon eggs and ham
And waiting for the bill to come, I lost my marbles one by one
And when my marbles rolled away, some Spoony put them on a tray
And slyly sold them back to me, for half a crown and one rupee
All in Spoonyland, all in Spoonyland

I fell in love in Dinkytown
Hear that sweet marimba sound
Drinking from the wishing well
Intercontinental Hotel
You loved me once, you loved me twice
You loved me three times -- that was nice
But when you saw I wanted more
You went home and closed your door

To hide the hurt I got a tan
And we lost touch in Spoonyland
An organ played a rinky tune
Underneath a cardboard moon

Some people live in Spoonyland
I wonder if I ever can
The streets are strewn with broken dreams
The bars are full of poor Marines
And when you want your romance run
They say "My God -- it can't be done!"
And ever since that coup de grace
Spoonyland's a lonely place
All in Spoonyland, all in Spoonyland
All in Spoonyland

"Councilhouse in Gabarone"

words and music by Mike Craver

Rahman says "Woman gets by beauty --
Man gets by his head -- you can't deny it"
"No man," I say. "I think I want it -
Against the law of the kingdom
A rat runs across the muddy path "Good beef," he says

At the casino we drink blue liquor
Our spirits high, he leads me by the hand
It's all a dream of Easter Island, or Parchman Farm
Like a god of the river, a son of the field
He speaks of his wife - she lives in Franceville
And their twelve month old child
ANd the things that they've got
And the old chaps he works for - They watch him alot

At the kiosk, transisters blaring
Soldiers in berets, glaring
Staring through me
The rainy windows
People's faces, calling to me
Mercedes at the cinema
Guards slip through gates
Machine guns, beggars reach through grates
Your woman she likes you, you walk through town
You promise her lime trees, you'll settle down
Her name is Freida, she's strong and quiet
The black light blinds the blood of countless riots

It's not done here, so the old chaps say
Sitting in their shops along the way
Man stays with his wife when he goes home
In his councilhouse in Gaborone

When I awake on a lonely morning
I am constrained to keep my silence
Powers that be, intruding ever
Voices that were shouting "Never"
I want to tell my story
Put that stuff beside me
First you commend me
Then you deny me
I looked you up to make my amends
I led you on -- your American friend

It's not done here, English ladies say
Dining in their balconey buffet
In his spirit each man sleeps alone
In his councilhouse in Gaborone

"Back in Your Own Backyard"

(Billy Rose, Al Jolson, Dave Dreyer from the musical SAY IT WITH SONG)

That bird with feathers of blue is waiting for you
Back in your own backyard
You'll see your castles of Spain in your window-pane
Back in your own backyard

You can go to the east, go to the west
And some day you'll come
Weary of heart, back where you started from
You'll find your happiness lies
Right under your eyes
Back in your own backyard

"Old Mister Soul"

(words and music by Mike Craver)

I was floating on water
Eating pears, unawares,
On my little raft of Styrofoam
The cardinals were singing
The herons were winging
I hear the ringing of a telephone

Old Mister Soul, are you calling me?
But do you know my name?
Old Mister Soul I'm not your long lost son
That snaggle-tooth with horn-rimmed frames
I tell you I'm closed, I feel indisposed
While you wait for me in the rain
Old Mister Soul with your mouth full of gold
Gurgling in my kitchen drain

I was going to make an album
And play it for my friends
While they all drank gin
Engaging in a little lawn croquet
Ringaleboo 'neath the old yard light
Disco dancing in the endless night
But you want me to sweep the cobwebs from my room
And fearlessly pursue
The hoof prints of that scallywag and bugaboo

You give me examples of the cream of the crop
I show you my samples, you say they're all slop
Lately I've been reading up on my ascendants
Looking to the future to win my independence
Then Old Mister Soul you won't be leading me
Like Lucifer down primrose lanes
Old Mister Soul I won't be following you
Like crucifers with candle flames
You can stuff you ideals of god-like existence
They only frustrate me, creating resistance
Old Mister Soul with your mouth full of gold
Your heart is full of mystery

"Secrets in the Sand"

(words and music by Mike Craver)

Isoldy, prince of peace
Spirits sink in the sea
Agents came to my door
They knew me from before
If you've one life to give
Give it to your cause
All of the things people do
With money and news

On a hot afternoon
Airport waiting room
One man winks, lets me by
On the tarmac someone dies
They might leave me out in the rain
Only a pawn in their game
The heart of a rebel saint
In my hand
But I thought I could rise
High above in your eyes

They bear your body through the street
Millions mourn in the heart
No one knows of my pain
Lonely grave in the rain
No one knows you loved me
How could they understand
One day a light would show
The secrets in your hand

Camera men
On the plane
To the world
Prince of peace
Secrets sink
In the sand

"The Way You Look Tonight"

(music by Jerome Kern, words by Dorothy Fields from SWING TIME)

Some day, when I’m all alone
And the world is cold
I will feel a glow just thinking of you
And the way you look tonight.

Ah but you’re lovely, with your smile so warm
And your cheeks so soft
There is nothing for me but to love you
And the way you look tonight

With each word your tenderness grows
Tearing my fear apart
And that laugh that wrinkles your nose
Touches my foolish heart

Lovely ... never, never change
Keep that breathless charm
Won’t you please arrange it
’Cause I love you, just the way you look tonight


(words and music by Nelson A. Shawn / Caesar Petrillo / Edward Ross / Milton Samuels)

Jim never brings her pretty flowers
Jim never cheers her lonely hours
Don't know why she's so in love with him

Jim never tells her she's his heart's desire
He never seems to set her love a-fire
Gone are the years she's wasted on him

Sometimes when she gets feeling low
She says 'let's call in quits'
But she hangs on and lets him go
Breaking her heart in bits

Some day I know that Jim is going to leave her
But even if he does, you know you can believe her
She'll go on carrying a torch for him…
She'll go on loving her Jim

"The Facts of Us"

(words and music by Mike Craver

The one that you love
Now you’ve gone above
Asked you down one night, you were saying
In a bar, under stars
When he heard a song I was playing

Photographs of him on his wedding day
Before he took his vows, before you went away
And he looked at me so fine in a moment frozen in time
I could only pretend that it really would matter
And why should they know what turned to be true
The fantasy vanished with you

He’s such a joy to us riding on a bus
And a scene ricochets from my past
A Sunday school canoe, a bashful partner like you
Playing “When the Swallows Return to Capistrano”

‘Neath the ‘mosa tree in a reverie
I heard him singing “Bayou Sara Burned Down”
And the rising of the wind, and the rain beat on the tin
There was always something there to mystify me
And why should they know what turned to be true
The facts of us vanished from view

On an afternoon in the month of June
I lie on the grass glad to be alive
A play on words, or “A Year with the Birds”
I’ve got plenty to do when I’m all alone

He looks at me, cheerfully, across the table in a restaurant
And he gave up my mind, and he saves all his time
Because he thinks it brings him closer to the truth
And why should they know what turned to be true
The facts of us vanished from view

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