I see the sword of Damocles
Is right above your head
They’re trying a new treatment
To get you out of bed
But radiation kills both bad and good
It can not differentiate
So to cure you they must kill you
The sword of Damocles hangs above your head

Now I have seen lots of peoples die
From car crashes or drugs
Last night on thirty third street
I saw a kid get hit by a bus
But this drawn out torture over which part of you lives
Is very hard to take
To cure you they must kill you
The sword of Damocles above your head

That mix of morphine and Dexedrine
We use it on the street
It kills the pain and keeps you up
Your very soul to keep
But this guessing game has its own rules
The good don’t always win
And might makes right
The sword of Damocles is hanging above your head

It seems every thing’s done that must be done
From over here though things don’t seem fair
But there are things that we can’t know
Maybe there’s something over there
Some other world that we don’t know about
I know you hate that mystic shit
It’s just another way of seeing
The sword of Damocles above your head

© Lou Reed

Ja, åbenbart. For som Smølle skarpt har gravet frem, har Cave allerede – før Jack & Jones kom på CV’et – begået udåden fra sidste uge en gang tidligere. Altså licenseret sin fine musik ud til at sælge simpelt consumer product. Her er det ‘Red Right Hand’ – som dog alligevel ikke er kommet til at hedde ‘Red Wine Man’ – der i maj måned gjorde den sydaustralske rødvin Barossa ekstra attraktiv og Nick Cave-skæbnesvanger…

Tæller sekunderne ned til det indlæg der næsten må komme her på bloggen, fra en hovedrystende og demoraliseret Webmaster Pastor…

Bookmakernes penge vil have været på, at det var The Pogues’ skibsforlis af en frontmand Shane MacGowan, der skulle tage billetten først. Men nej, bandets guitarist Phil Chevron – jeg stødte selv først på ham i 1978, via hans irske punkband The Radiators From Space – måtte i dag gå bort efter længere tids hård sygdom. Her en drøm af en Amerika-sang han begik til The Pogues-albummet If I Should Fall from Grace with God. Det er naturligvis MacGowan der synger ud her…

The island it is silent now
But the ghosts still haunt the waves
And the torch lights up a famished man
Who fortune could not save

Did you work upon the railroad
Did you rid the streets of crime
Were your dollars from the white house
Were they from the five and dime

Did the old songs taunt or cheer you
And did they still make you cry
Did you count the months and years
Or did your teardrops quickly dry

Ah, no, says he, ’twas not to be
On a coffin ship I came here
And I never even got so far
That they could change my name

Thousands are sailing
Across the western ocean
To a land of opportunity
That some of them will never see
Fortune prevailing
Across the western ocean
Their bellies full
Their spirits free
They’ll break the chains of poverty
And they’ll dance

In manhattan’s desert twilight
In the death of afternoon
We stepped hand in hand on broadway
Like the first man on the moon

And “the blackbird” broke the silence
As you whistled it so sweet
And in brendan behan’s footsteps
I danced up and down the street

Then we said goodnight to broadway
Giving it our best regards
Tipped our hats to mister cohen
Dear old times square’s favorite bard

Then we raised a glass to jfk
And a dozen more besides
When I got back to my empty room
I suppose I must have cried

Thousands are sailing
Again across the ocean
Where the hand of opportunity
Draws tickets in a lottery
Postcards we’re mailing
Of sky-blue skies and oceans
From rooms the daylight never sees
Where lights don’t glow on christmas trees
But we dance to the music
And we dance

Thousands are sailing
Across the western ocean
Where the hand of opportunity
Draws tickets in a lottery
Where e’er we go we celebrate
The land that makes us refugees
From fear of priests with empty plates
From guilt and weeping effigies
And we dance…

© Phil Chevron