Michael Moorcock
& The Deep Fix




My pulse rate stood at zero
When I first saw my Pierrot
My temperature rose to ninety-nine
When I beheld my Columbine

Sigh, sigh, sigh
For love that's oft denied
Cry, cry, cry . . .
My lips remain unsatisfied
I'm yearning so for my own Pierrot
As we dance the Entropy Tango

I'll weep, weep, weep
Till he sweeps me off my feet
My heart will beat, beat, beat,
And my body lose its heat
Oh, life no longer seems so sweet
Since that sad Pierrot became my beau
And taught me the Entropy Tango

So flow, flow, flow . . .
As the rain turns into snow
And it's slow, slow, slow
As the colours lose their glow
The Winds of Limbo no longer blow
For cold Columbine and her pale Pierrot
As we dance the Entropy Tango!

And it's kiss, kiss, kiss
Fear and hate we have dismissed
And it's wish, wish, wish . . .
For a better world than this . . .
So say goodbye to pain and woe
- And we'll stop the Entropy Tango . . .

Calling in and calling out
Crawling through the chromosphere
Will all members please report
To their own centuries
To their own centuries

This is an emergency signal
To all chromonauts and
Members of the Time Guilde
Mrs. Persson calls a conference
Code-name Pierrot--code-name Harlequin
Come in please--this is Columbine

Come in please, this is Columbine
Come in please, this is Columbine . . .

In this ancient tim-fouled city discredited gods do brood
On the various imagined insults which down the aeons they've
received.
It is a place of graves and here dreams are destroyed
Dreams are brought from all the corners of the world
To be crushed or ripped or melted down
Into a healthy cynicism
Here are tricksters born
And fools divested of enchntment

This is where Pierrot is killed
And from his flesh Harlequin created
To race across the world, laughing at nothing.
Laughing at everything
Laughing at his pain,
Laughing at the tired gods who bore him
Here in this city, this city of shades,
This city of irony bereft of imagination
This city of suppression
This city of pragmaticism
Where the jesters weep
And the tricksters scheme
Parading in motley
Too afraid to scream
Too way to acknowledge love
Unless love's made a game
Which they can win.

Here in this city of swaggering fantasticos, of calculated
gallantry
Was Harlequin the Trickster born, to go about the world,
to succeed
To attract, to display an easy cleverness, to lie and
to deceive
To show what shallow things are dreams, and promises
impossible to keep
And should he meet with frankness, unashamed honesty
Back to this city Harlequin may flee
To be replemished, armed afresh by his weary masters,
The gorgeous gods of disharmony . . .


On the banks of Time's river
Two lovers await me
As the flood takes me by
They reach out their hands
Pierrot and Harlequin
Weeping they greet me
The stream bears me onward
Future and Past . . .

Which shall I choose
Oh, I am confused . . .
Often amused and
Constantly torn . . .
Down the long centuries
They have pursued me
Courted and cursed me
For what I am

Gravity holds me
In sweet indecision
Between Sun and Moon
To each I am attracted
Pierrot and Harlequin
Loser and Trickster
Laughing they beckon
As the years flood away

Futurre and past
Futurre and past
Futurre and past
Futurre and past

As the years flood away
As the years flood away
As the years flood away
As the years flood away
Future and past . . .


 

I'm glad I'm not dead
I'm glad I'm not dead
I'm glad I'm not dead
I'm glad I'm not dead
I'm glad I'm not dead
I'm glad I'm not dead
I'm glad I'm not dead
I'm glad I'm not dead


Oh Columbine
I'm lost in Time
There ain't a sign
Of ho-o-ome . . .

She took a trip
On an old time ship
There was a slip
And now she's lost
Alone . . .

She could be
In Nine O Three
Or Twenty Million and Six
She told me
That she'd be free
But now she's lost her fix . . .

Oh Columbine
Sweet love of mine
I missed you so
On the megaflow

Where is-- oh, where is--
My lovely Columbine?

She said we'd meet
In a place so neat
Say June of Sixty Seven,
But catastrophe
She could not beat
So maybe she's in Heaven

Where is--oh, where is
My lovely Columbine?

Oh Columbine
I'm lost in Time
There ain't a sign
Of ho-o-ome . . .

Where is--oh, where is
My lovely Columbine?


The Bishop and Mitzi
Were on the rampage
She full of lust
He full of rage
Looking for victims
They hoped to convert
Stopped in the fifties
And there found a cert . . .

They got me again
They got me again
Oh, shit, they got me again
I was holed out in 'fifty'
And having some fun
When I heard Mitzi coming
Caught the sound of her gun

Bang-bang-bang
Here come the gang
Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang!

The Bishop and Mitzi
They found him at last
Stuck in a time-slip
On his way to the past
He cried out for mercy
But they only laughed
As they took him in
To remind him of sin . . .
They got me again . . .


I've climbed so high
I can't climb higher
I've reached the top
And have to stop
Sitting on the steeple
Like a silly little fairy
Goodbye Tom and goodbye Derry
Goodbye sahib, hello effendi
Biba's bust and I'm so trendy
Marx and Spencer's fails to send me
I've a hole in my trousers
And a boil on my nose
But they won't catch me
With my teeth round a rose
My time's run out
I'm a senile ghost
Run-down loony
Who never signed up
Music box
They can't wind me up
You should see me
What I had lined up
It was so sweet
And it was tasty
Lost the lot
By being too hasty
I don't care
I've reached the limit
You can keep the world
There's nothing in it
I'll just sit here
And eat my spinach
Waiting for
The thing to finish
Up above the moon
Is shining
As I squat here
Quietly whining
For Columbine
I still am pining
My reel is spinning
But I can't get
The line in
So I think I'll just
Crawl under this bush.







Gloriana

This void, my womb
This torture is too great
We are the state
We serve, we serve . . .
Is it a constant yearning that we are maintained
Hopes despair
We are the hopeless state
Eternal, we serve, we serve . . .


Montfallcon

I hear you weeping in the night
Oh my queen
If you were only woman and not Albion
These sweet wives I'd leave
I recall your yearning flesh
Your high despairing breath
Your innocence, your lust
My pleasure in your pain
I breathe your name
I hold the hair to my ears, oh madam
So that I no longer hear to sleep.

In my skull's a multiplicity of spheres
An infinity of Albions
And in one Dee is King
And she the Sage
(Would she then lust for me
And I refuse to hear her beating blood?)
World upon world
A sea of globes
And only rarely do two meet
Thus I discourse, and thus I bow
(Ah! These pantoloons! A eunuch of me'll make it trow!)

"Oh venerable Dee--respected sir;
So noble and refined . . ."
(She cannot guess what thoughts do burn
In my tormented mind . . .)

And now a word on Nature
Next on God and Next on Good
On Love and Death, and
On Dee--and the Arithmetik
(How to restrain the calming prick?)
"Madam, I take my leave, if you'll permit!"
Another bow--my blade! I weep!
And through the door I lurch
Groaning for surcease
(Girl speaks): Good morrow, Doctor Dee!
(Dee): Aside, sweet maid, aside
(Girl): Advice, good sage, I pray . . .
(Dee aside): (For now you'll be my temp'ry bride).
"Come quickly, maid, to my bedside
And I will fill thee full of my philosphy . . ."

And I will fill thee full
And I will fill thee full
And I will fill thee full
And I will fill thee full . . .








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