@ALBUM: drifting.towards.violence
PATRIK FITZGERALD  -  TUNISIAN TWIST
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1986 Red Flame.All lyrics by Patrik.
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@SONG: FACTORY OF WINES
 
In the factory of wines
He organised the system
Stealing bottles out for other people
Through various means
In the factory of wines
They drank together happily
In unofficial coffee breaks
Behind the scenes

In the factory of wines
He tried to organise a union
No one was interested 
In ideas such as these
In the factory of wines
They treated him, eventually
Rather like a cat with fleas
Always searching for the cheese

In the factory of wines
They didn't recognise him
The man from the management
Dressed in plain clothes
In the factory of wines -
They didn't realise - 
Drinking a glass of red
And holding it up to his nose
Writing out a report of the
Estimated loss
Leaving the piece of paper
On the table of his boss

In the factory of wines
They agreed to make a deal
Scared to death
Of being crushed
Beneath the big wheels
Give us a name
And then we will forget your crime
Now he's standing, waiting
To walk out of the door 
For the last time

@SONG: THE FINGER OF LESOTHO
 
He smiled with contentment
As he placed the present in the box
Sealing up the wrapping paper
Waiting for the courier
The motorcycle messenger, riding through the rain
To deliver the parcel
To the castle of his latest flame

he now appeared preoccupied
Waiting for the telephone
To confirm the arrival
Of the parcel at her home
The motorcycle messenger, arriving through the rain
Pausing at the doorbell
And studying the names

She smiled to herself
Imagining the surprise
But, then, she wasn't sure
Weather to believe what she saw
Before her eyes
A beautiful ring
Of diamonds and gold
Still attached to the finger 
Of the man whose fortune that they'd stole
'The finger of Lesotho'

@SONG: PUTTING WINGS ON AEROPLANES
 
We're waiting for the strike to end 
Counting days
Counting hours
Hoping we don't lose our jobs
Ready to lift the hammers
Ready to place the bolts -
We'll go back to work again
Putting wings on aeroplanes

Once I went, for free, to Spain
I was proud to travel, that day
In the plane I'd helped to build
Landing in a foreign field
Something strange,though, had gone on
Our boss went instead to Hong Kong
Booked into the best hotel
A hundred waiters waiting
And we went back to work again
Putting wings on aeroplanes

Then it came, that awful moment
I was sad to travel, that day
In the plane I'd helped to build
Landing in a foreign field
Run, with the others
From the plane
Towards the hills of Southern Spain
The aeroplane was now deployed
To destroy, or be destroyed
I'll never go back to work again
Putting wings on aeroplanes
I'll never...
(ad infinitum)

@SONG: 10,000 YEARS OF WEEPING
 
The bus pulled over
On the roadside
The men pulled out their guns again
And told me to keep quiet
The sun was streaming down
Around the empty sound
Disturbed by the roaring
Of a mirage soaring by

And the radio carried the newscast
From a place where peace appeared
As fragile as glass
Far away from here 
And in the public eye
The people of America promised they wouldn't die

Sat still and silent
I listened to the news
The men walked up and down the bus
And watched me for a move
The occasional threat
And game of Russian roulette
All six bullets against my head
So that they couldn't lose

And the radio carried the newscast
From a place where peace appeared
As fragile as glass
Far away from here
And in the public eye
The people of America made sure they wouldn't die

Sat still and silent
I listened to the news
The radio now changed channels
And then it blew a fuse

@SONG: PILOT OF A PRIVATE YACHT
 
They treat him well enough though
As he takes them to the warmest seas
As they enjoy the silence
And seclusion of the sun lounge
They have to thank him
For their daily glass of port or sherry
He has to thank them
For his daily bottle of red wine
Eating with the company, downstairs
Of two uncomprehending strangers

The boat visits exotic lands
He develops his suntan
He does his job well
And they tell him so each evening
He goes to sleep each night
To bad dreams from his childhood
Whispering small prayer to thank you
For the job he has today

Eating with the company, downstairs
Of two uncomprehending elderly strangers

@SONG: DOWN MEXICO WAY
 
She wanted to be a mother -
The final touch -
Towards their picture of domestic bliss
They failed, though, the audition
For adoption

"What can I do" he thought
"To keep the peace"
"What can I do" he thought
"To keep her in one piece?"
A baby, it seemed, could be a solution
She couldn't have a baby though

He reached into his briefcase
And prepared to write a cheque
To some unknown girl
Living a hundred miles away
He'd simply seen an advert
Saying "womb for sale...."

It didn't matter that much
About her background
As long as she could provide
The means
For birth:
The baby born, the cheque signed
The baby delivered....
Problem solved

@SONG: POOR JOHN
 
He's taking tablets for his job
To get him through his day
From one end to another
He's taking tablets for his job
To get him through his life
From one end to another
Poor John

Another drink, and then he's on his way
To do his work for another day
Another pint, and then he's on his way
Just another half a day
Poor John

Muscles aching from the sweat and strain
Head falling to the floor
Of the morning train
Drowning in the misery of life
From A to B, then back again
(then back again)
Poor John

@SONG: TUNISIAN TWIST
 
Every evening at three minutes past five
He visits the girl
Who works behind the counter
In the chip shop

He buys some chips also
She always gives him the smallest
Greenest, most undercooked ones
She could find
He always complains....
He always complains....
He always complains....
She gives him the bigger bag
It always breaks her heart to do so
Seeing him grow
From Syd Little
To Eddie Large
To Demis Roussos
She gives him...
(ad infinitum)