Lights

I used to drive for a living
 Hairy arms fed the wheel thorough my palms
 Twitching feet made patterns on pedals
 Reflexes honed in a twice-failed test
 The pay man Lance kept me elastic bound
 In the echelons of west one
 Slim chance of the odd long journey
 Kept me clinging to him for too long
 Locked in a car all day
 Came home and worked on 'Children At Play'
 I had no deal then
 But I had fifty blank tapes then in a bag waiting
 Held out for Beckett's bunch
 As the LTJ rejection letter flew in
 I knew it wouldn't be long
 Before I wrote Carbon Cones
 Only last week, I noticed
 That the colors of the lights in my studio
 Are the same as the ones
 You conjure in my mind
 (Yellow and green, green pea green)
 (Cherry red and red and blue)
 When my Amiga reads from a disk
 You know the green fills the room
 And your long summer dress fills my mind
 My other jobs were none to speak of
 "Make a coffee for the man in Avid One"
 "Drop these lunches off then take
 This Betacam to a place on Dean Street"
 Most posts seemed
 To involve the lifting of heavy boxes
 Be they crates of soft drink
 Or hyper-boring finance files
 A man of such small frame
 As I broke into several sweats a day
 Whilst failing to procure even the hint
 Of any musculature improvement
 Heavy-lifting days are in the bin now
 But I still dip into tempting
 Wearing the odd suit, attending the odd interview
 Subsidizing the drum programming you hear today
 Only last week, I noticed
 That the colors of the lights in my studio
 Are the same as the ones you conjure in my mind
 (Yellow and green, green pea green)
 (Cherry red and red and blue)
 Just yesterday I was woken
 By a flashing of a light from my studio
 Confirming that this time stretch was complete
 Only last week, I noticed
 That the colors of the lights in my studio
 Are the same as the ones you conjure in my mind