Orion

Orion, won’t you give me your star sign.
Orion, get up on the sky-line.
I’m high on my hill and I feel fine.
Orion, let’s sip the heaven’s heady wine.
Orion, light your lights:
come guard the open spaces
from the black horizon to the pillow where I lie.
Your faithful dog shines brighter than its lord and master.
Your jewelled sword twinkles as the world rolls by.
So come up singing above the cloudy cover
stare through at people who toss fitful in their sleep.
I know you’re watching as the old gent by the station
scuffs his toes on old fag packets lying in the street.

Orion, won’t you give me your star sign.
Orion, get up on the sky-line.
I’m high on my hill and I feel fine.
Orion, let’s sip the heaven’s heady wine.

And silver shadows flick across the closing bistro.
Sweet waiters link their arms and patter down the street,
their words lost blowing on cold winds in darkest Chelsea.
Prime years fly fading with each young heart’s beat.

Orion, won’t you make me a star sign.
Orion, get up on the sky-line.
I’m high on your love and I feel fine.
Orion, let’s sip the heaven’s heady wine.

And young girls shiver as they wait by lonely bus-stops
after sad parties: no-one to take them home
to greasy bed-sitters and make a late-night play
for lost virginity a thousand miles away.

Orion, won’t you make me a star sign.
Orion, get up on the sky-line.
I’m high on your love and I feel fine.
Orion, let’s sip the heaven’s heady wine.