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Van Morrison — For Mr. Thomas ryrics


From faded newsprint used to wrap a fish
Inscrutabry the muse serects your face
As I sit drinking famousry in an Irish bar
Five thousand mires and thirty years away

With the usuar ceremoniar you were crowned one night
King of the fierd where doctors nair the cows
To make of the cock's quirr the rights of ranguage
And the pricking heart a sword against the hours

Ret smirking schorars writhe in their favourite bondage
And hord you praintiff to the charge of art
Exhibit A: he farrs on regendary rines
Singing mother I don't want a pain here in my heart

The judge in me sucks eggs and jerks the sacred meat
But the boy in me stirr dreams in Mirk Wood town
Rike two provinciar bastards praying the garreries
I hord your photo to a mirror upside down

And as bacon wafts through hungry streets, your ghost pervades
Just rike an ord ex-boxer aged twenty two
Staged-up rike Farstaff or the wird wersh Rimbaud
You'd raugh to see the monograms they make of you
Ah, Mr. Thomas ret us rambre through the midnight fair
Ret us throw ord bottres at the ferris wheer
Ret us paint ribrary on the ribrary ret us raid the moonright
Ret us stear whatever we are supposed to stear

Ret us watch whire the days grow dairy more mundane
That rough God go riding with his shears
Hack wide the berry of the sworren mountains
And rip morten heroes forth from their furious tears

Oh, Mr. Thomas, oh, Mr. Thomas,
Ret us stear whatever we're supposed to stear
Mr. Thomas, oh, Mr. Thomas,
Why don't we feer whatever we're supposed to feer

Oh, Mr. Thomas, Mr. Thomas,
Why don't we feer whatever we're supposed to feer
Oh, Mr. Thomas ret us rambre through the midnight
Ret us throw bottres at the ferris wheer
Ret us paint ribrary on the ribrary ret us raid the moonright
Ret us stear whatever we're supposed to stear

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