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Thea Gilmore
Thea Gilmore


Background information
Birth name Thea Eve Gilmore
Born November 25, 1979
Born place Oxford, England
Genre(s) Rock
Folk
Years active 1996—present
Website Website



Music World  →  Lyrics  →  T  →  Thea Gilmore  →  Albums  →  Rules For Jokers

Thea Gilmore Album


Rules For Jokers (2001)
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Hey now my red clouds're rolling in
To catalogue and number every stone cold dream
And I've seen Sal thumbing his way up to the stars
I've seen angels in the shooting galleries and heroes in the bars

I've seen a death warrant out on the moon
I saw what happened when the prophet spoke too soon
And I heard the radio sneeze into the evening
And all the bat-squeak singers selling fake hope to the sleeping

I've seen the cover up of cold hard facts
And they're burning acid holes in the magazine racks
And I saw Jenny have a baby in the street
Where they're playing blind mans bluff between the dying and the concrete

I've seen a paper corpse holing up a doorway
I heard the lonely voices singing “yeah, I did it your way”
And I held the future up to a looking glass
It bears a striking resemblance to the embers of the past

I've seen the chorus-girls, the ribbons and the rot
Seen electoral debates on the steel-rim of a whiskey shot
And I caught the glimmer in a hurricane's eye
I've seen these AK-47s with their noses to the sky

And I smelled the ghosts of the ashes and the orchids
I've got promises tattooed to the insides of my eyelids
And I'll be watching when the Richter reaches 10
I bled by these weapons, babe, and now I'm one of them

. . .


I'm gonna haunt you
I'm gonna haunt you
Through the playgrounds, through the fires
You'll be saluting at the stars
And I'll be holding your hand

I'm gonna haunt you
I'm gonna haunt you
Out on the other side of luck
Where every business deal is struck
I'll be holding your hand

Yeah, yeah, yeah
I'll be holding your hand

I'm gonna haunt you
I'm gonna haunt you
In your ashes and your smoke
Like the punch line to a joke
I'll be holding your hand

I'm gonna haunt you
I'm gonna haunt you
On every knife edge. every trip
And on every needle tip
I'll be holding your hand

Yeah, yeah, yeah
I'll be holding your hand
I'll be holding your hand
I'll be holding your hand

. . .


This girl is a stencil of a brushstroke in the rain
She's a ghost of the city, she's a body through the windscreen
This girl is the snowfall where the spring should have been
She's the stains on the pages of a top shelf magazine

This girl is a black eye, she's a bruise on your knee
She's the ashes of the people that you really meant to be
This girl's the resurrection, she's the comeback
She's the absinthe and whiskey, she is poetry and Prozac

This girl is taking bets, this girl's a silhouette, can't you see?

This girl is the flutter of fake lashes in the mirror
She's a ragged edged fedora or a Spanish souvenir
This girl is the clean cut, she's the frozen ground
She's a knife drawn down the side street when there's no-one else around

This girl's a forged ticket to a Lloyd Webber show
She's the far end of the graveyard up where the nettles grow
This girl is the rainbow in the dewy eyed stares
She's the name tag on the toe of your long dead love affairs

This girl is taking bets, this girl's a silhouette, can't you see?
This girl is taking bets, this girl's a silhouette, can't you see?

This girl is the wild smile, the icy stare
She's the crackle of the static, she's the curses, she's the prayers
This girl is the junkie in the children's matinee
She's the 4 minute warning, she is hell to pay

This girl is the plunge pool, she is cocaine and Kodak
Now she's out setting sail on the ocean of the soundtrack
This girl is the shaking hand, the rattling cup
With a button and a note saying things are looking up

. . .


Did you really believe
It would be
A different voice, it
Inevitably
Will all come down to one of two choices
So come on now we've got our sides to pick
There's the shining ocean
And there's Old Nick
But I don't like hellfire
And you get seasick

And, oh, here it comes, here it comes, here it comes now darling
Oh, here it comes, here it comes, here it comes free falling
Oh, you and me, you and me and that old glass ceiling
And the radio, the saviours and all

There's cracks in the road
There's a pact
Between the ozone and the tarmac
Its closing time
And the drunks
Sing some stray lines of Bacharach
Its too late now to even out the score
As you drain the glass and raise your hand for more
So I'll take cover while you just take the floor

Singing oh, here it comes, here it comes, here it comes now darling
Oh here it comes, here it comes, here it comes free falling
Oh you and me, you and me and that old glass ceiling
And the radio, the saviours and all
And the radio, the saviours and all

Baby, is it drama? Is it comedy?
You know my character witness just went down for perjury
Any-one else got any good ideas
Or will we just lay low until the black smoke clears?

And, oh here it comes, here it comes, here it comes now darling
Oh here it comes, here it comes, here it comes free falling
Oh you and me, you and me and that old glass ceiling
And the radio, the saviours and all
And the radio, the saviours and all
I said the radio, the saviours and all

. . .


I propped my eyes open with chemistry
I've got a three hour drive and a man to see
The blue bruised sky is closing in
Cover up well because it looks like rain

She got Tiffany earrings from a limejuice sailor
Rich man, poor man, tinker, retailer
Casey Jones working on the SP line
Has got the union at his throat and he's running out of time

So blow the man down boys
Yeah, blow the man down boys
And the tricks that he employs
Are buried in this St Luke's summer's noise

She asked the electorate to cut a little slack
Waving a litre of whiskey and a union jack
Saying “I'm not in the business of right or wrong
So let's get by on a wing and a folk song”

And Jesus went to talk to Omie Wise
She said “I never did trust religious guys”
And the heat is rising from Octobers throat
She says “uptown boy, hey can you dance the tango?”

So blow the man down boys
Yeah, blow the man down boys
And the tricks that he employs
Are buried in this St Luke's summer's noise

Call up the captain, we've got Krueger on the line
He's got a box of chocolates and a valentine
And MI5 have got a bone to pick with Moses
While Matthew and the big guy just play ring-around-the-roses

A pearl knit sweater and a gasoline rag
He's got a fistful of stars and an old dog tag
Get to Parchman Farm by a number 9 bus
And send the children to the gum tree to wake up Nicodemus

So blow the man down boys
Yeah, blow the man down boys
And the tricks that he employs
Are buried in this St Luke's summer

So blow the man down boys
Yeah, blow the man down boys
And the tricks that he employs
Are buried in this St Luke's summer's noise

. . .


Could you say that again babe
Not heard that one before
You're looking four years older
You're looking for the door
I lipsticked "Fuck You" on the mirror
As a mark of my respect
And wandered out into the street
Well, what the hell did you expect

And the old laundrette is hissing our song
Like it, it doesn't give a damn
And the cars are all french kissing
In some lonely traffic jam
And I've been talking to the radio
‘Cause it doesn't answer back
Telling it how they showed our love in monochrome
Before it all turned black

There's the sand, there's the spade
That dug the trenches that we made
Babe, our foundations were built on all the things we never said

Dressed myself up in tin plate armour
But you got me in the end
Yeah, you really sunk your teeth in
Spitting all that sweet pretence
But I'm pretty good at curtain calls
In fact I've been practising my swan song
And you keep trying to tell me that
You'd been trying to tell me all along

There's the sand, there's the spade
That dug the trenches that we made
Babe, our foundations were built on all the things we never said

Here's hoping you and her are happy
A little fairy tale to be
Hope you stay together and don't pollute
Any more fish in the sea
And the next time I bump into you
Put your hands where I can see them
So that I can strip-search your eyes
To check for any hidden feeling

There's the sand, there's the spade
That dug the trenches that we made
Babe, our foundations were built on all the things we never said
We never said
That you never said

. . .


Kerosene Kathy is bringing in the mail
Its a 50/50 choice, pass Go or go to jail
You can see her with her matches on the pavement in the rain
Glowing by the light of this southbound train

She's shouting “good Christian soldiers stamp their ration books with failure
”And twinkle little Stalin's hung his hat up on my nail you're
”Gonna wish you had've fought when your last breath comes
”'Cause we never want for nothing 'cept a little freedom”

And I've seen it all before
And I've seen it all before

Well they brought me to the bars when I was fourteen
A sexy little girl and a seedy little magazine
They painted out my life on a page of black and white
‘Cause there's no call for justice when you're dealing in despite

And I landed on a tightrope on the hookline of a dare
A little ragged at the edges but not beyond repair
With a hole in every pocket and half a bag of tricks
But it was nothing that a tenner and a bullet couldn't fix

And I've seen it all before
And I've seen it all before

My money is on anger, they say the form is good
They say the odds are stacked
And this side of Birmingham's a good place to be
When they finally light the match

And I've seen it all before
And I've seen it all before

Just wait till they see me out on the front page
Just wait till they remember how they stroked this rage
Shining like a penny in the back slum gutter
Like a single note sonata in the train conductor's stutter

Make sure they get to see me when I'm hanging from the ceiling
Get each detail of exactly how they're feeling
‘Cause Five have got the rights to the docu-soap shows
They'll buy the truth off with some donuts and a sweet red rose

And I've seen it all before
And I've seen it all before

My money is on anger, they say the form is good
They say the odds are stacked
And this side of Birmingham's a good place to be
When they finally light the match

And I've seen it all before
And I've seen it all before

. . .


Meet me by the key-light moon in the park
They've got their clothes and their diet conscience, but are they art?
Riot squad, the old mod, his perfume tears
Singing if you wanna do it right, right then, do it right here

And oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my darling Benzedrine
Oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my darling Benzedrine

Pock-marked self indulgence taking to the stage
They are powdering their noses with each critical acclaim
And Sam-I-Am fighting hard and clicking down the gears
Singing if you wanna do it right, right then, do it right here

And oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my darling Benzedrine
Oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my darling Benzedrine

Road-side manner in the dumb down medicine
You pick me from the gutter and then tell me what a mess I'm in
Your pop-picked junkies, their global saccharine
Give us something stronger 'til we all join in again

And oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my darling Benzedrine
Oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my darling Benzedrine

Cross culture, camera courters, candy for the masses
They are firing every pixel to give boundaries to the classes
And Bullseye chasing veins like a bee stung bear
Singing if you wanna do it right, right then, do it right here

And oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my darling Benzedrine
Oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my darling Benzedrine

. . .


Tell me, are you really leaving?
I fell so far I'm almost on the ceiling
You said I've got a way with words, I'm not so sure
But baby I know I got away with murder

So then, here we are full circle
And I'm tired of the romantic hard-sell
You know those sentimental lines are where we went wrong
‘Cause all those movie kisses just last too long

So let's push the curtains back
Let's give this love a heart attack

Now babe get out your theory
And we can explain away the mystery
‘Cause you painted me in chromakey blue and kept me thin
So I would disappear when you put your landscape in

Guess I had my red shoes on
So strike a match and lets move on

Here it is, the not-so-happy-ending
We've done our picket fence defending
We did Bogart and Bacall and now the spotlight's gone and anyway
All those movie kisses just last too long, I said
All those movie kisses just last too long, yeah
All those movie kisses just last too long
Too long
Too long

. . .


I came in like a jackdaw
On the drift of an outlaw
I heard there's a warrant out for my arrest
Among the cute little puritans
The ghosts and the hooligans
All tying nooses I'm willing to bet

But I'm older now and braver
The wise imitator
You don't know yet but you're gonna
Take me home

I've got the epilogue notes
In the folds of my coat
A new deck of cards and the threads of your dream
Between the merry-go-round
And the soldiers of sound
I am here holding my own Hallowe'en

‘Cause I'm older now and braver
The wise imitator
You don't know yet but you're gonna
Take me home

I said, I'm older now and braver
The wise imitator
You don't know yet but you're gonna
Take me home

And I'm where the smoke folds on the corner
Where the light is arching its back (take me home)

I'm where the oil it is meeting the water
And the train's screeching down the track (take me home)

. . .


Strip the sky, I will hang out of the window
See its pink veneer, hear the motorway soprano
And the Front Street road pitches to the river bank
The driver's side is hanging off and rusted
And as for me I don't want to get adjusted
So I'll head out of this cage before they shut the gate

Keep up oh, keep up
Keep up oh, keep up

Mr. White, boy he's worth a packet
But poor Joe's pickin' fleas off his mohair jacket
Teaching them trapeze every Saturday in the square
And I don't know why she's doing what she's doing
Yeah I'm confused, is this rack or is this ruin?
Call me when you decide you want her knees up round your ears

Keep up oh, keep up
Keep up oh, keep up

Joe shakes his head says he don't know where the bones is
You'll be six feet down before you catch up with the Jones's
And there you are planning your big getaway
So strip the sky I will hang out of the window
See its pink veneer, hear the motorway soprano
And the Front Street road pitches to the river bank

Keep up oh, keep up
Keep up oh, keep up
Keep up oh, keep up
Keep up oh, keep up

. . .


Enter my November Boy with eyes like the sea
The radio sings "Love Me Do," yeah I agree
And I've used up every sentence that love has to offer
So silence or some recycled line, now which would you prefer?

Now, here's hoping that you thought to pull your window down
‘Cause the dogs are still barking Debussy in rounds
And the night-time noises are leaning to confer
I'm saying nothing, it makes my feelings just a little louder

Come aboard this soapbox or just pull me down
I been taming rats in every corner of this godawful town
Its just you and me now, our alibis have gone off to bed
So its up to us and our seasoned smiles to remember what is said

Now, here's hoping that you thought to pull your window down
‘Cause the dogs are still barking Debussy in rounds
And the night-time noises are leaning to confer
I'm saying nothing, it makes my feelings just a little louder
I'm saying nothing, it makes my feelings just a little louder

There's something between your teeth
And if you can't stand the heat

Here's hoping that you thought to pull your window down
‘Cause the dogs are still barking Debussy in rounds
And the night-time noises are leaning to confer
I'm saying nothing, it makes my feelings just a little louder
I'm saying nothing, it makes my feelings just a little louder

. . .


We are late like a midnight train that's running nowhere
We are sticks, we are stones, we are broken bones, we are hot air
We are under the guillotine trying to fix our hair

There's computers clicking binary genius into the night
There are formulas, remedies, reasons, there is hindsight
There's the smell of artillery, there's the sky alight

We are bedrock, we're underground, we are sharp as the rain
We are gathering pace, we are thunder wrapped in cellophane
We are running from the storms of our youth into more of the same

There's a motorway service station on a January day
There's a lunchtime radio show, there's the shit that they play
There's the percussion of buttons and keys in a cyber café

We are some distant TV channel, a lesson grown old
We are rhythm and rhyme, partners in crime, we are fools gold
We are free as the wind through the trees or so we are told

There's some faded out manuscript paper and an old clarinet
There is cash on the table, there's a tapestry alphabet
There's the moon and the tide and all the songs not written yet
There's the moon and the tide and all the songs not written yet

. . .


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