Lyrics Chris Judge Smith - Curly's Airships - CD2 - 7 - The Night Before

CURLY:-
Flying men are fey;
Airmen see more ghosts than most.
There are murmurs in the mess
About prefigurements and omens,
'Cause, when you're up there
In the airy nothing,
You draw close to the unseen;
And sometimes the unseen
Draws close to you,
And it reaches out and touches you
With a cold finger,
And that night, in the dark, with the clock,
It was poking us like fun.
I couldn't sleep. Could they?
Could Colmore?...

COLMORE:-
It hasn't worked.The experiment's failed;
It can't be put right.
Damn Thomson!
Curse that bullying swine to Hell!
If I pull the plug I'll be the scapegoat,
Carry the can for everything.
Even the nightmare's better than that:
Each night the dream of burning gas;
Flying then falling,
Trapped in a blazing cage!..
Well, tomorrow makes an end of it,
One way or the other.
I tried so hard. I did my best;
And now I'm afraid.
Christ, I'm afraid...

CURLY:-
And how was Lucky Breeze,
Surely he was off in Dreamland? ...

LUCKY:-
Sod Conan Doyle!...
Leave the dead alone...
Giving me the heebie-jeebies...
Piss off, Johnny, don't want to know!...
Bugger's dead, but he won't lie down!...
Thomson's a fool,
But he's promised me a 'K' if I pull it off.
I'll get this flying abortion home
If I have to carry her there myself,
And I'll leave England
With a clean pair of heels.
So buck up, man,
You've done worse than this.
Remember you're Lucky.
So let's have a drink, then Over the Top!
One for the road, then Over the Top!

CURLY:-
Was Irwin sleeping?
I'm sure that he knew
We were all for the high jump.

IRWIN:-
Hail Mary, full of Grace,
The Lord is with thee.
Blessed art thou among women
And blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
Holy Mary, Mother of God,
Pray for us sinners now
And at the hour of our death.
And at the hour of our death.
And at the hour of our death...

CURLY:-
And how was the Secretary of State?
How was the noble lord?
Was he getting his beauty sleep?

THOMSON:-
Those fools are afraid;
They're yellow all through.
That ship is quite safe...
Damn that gypsy crone,
That ignorant peasant in Bucharest;
Can't get her off my mind
And the things she said
When she read my palm:
A glorious future, the world at my feet.
But nothing after 1930,
Nothing after the age of fifty-five;
Said she couldn't see any further;
I gave her more money,
But she shook her head.
But I know India is waiting for me,
And faint heart never won a princess.
So just keep your nerve,
And show them the whip.
Ride them all hard,
And show them the whip...

CURLY:-
As for me and Suzie,
We said special goodbyes,
And I cheered us up by showing her
My brand new pocket-knife!
A bloody great thing
With an edge like a razor
To cut my way out of the hull if I had to.
And I swore her to silence,
And I gave her the hush-hush rumour:
That Lucky had fixed it
With some chums in France
At the airship station at Orly Aerodrome,
All semi-unofficial and off the record.
But if things are desperate,
We could put down there,
And they'd have a ground-crew
To take us in.
Might save our skins if nothing else.
05.00, climb into the stiff new uniform.
"Promise you'll come back," she said.
"Right oh, Suze, cross my heart,
Cross my heart and hope to die..."