Written, recorded, programmed and produced by Uly Mars.

You might as well live under my magical hat
I see, when rent is due
You banking it in a neglected imagination
Won’t you come in, and stay a while?
And though your home is but your troubles’ bed
Around my kitchen table you can be somebody new
Someone somewhat less afraid of their neighbours

And in the morning on the table
There will only be
Only a shed skin and a hat black,
Black of the most midnight degree

And if we can’t live in it
Why, then we’ll ride it
Why, then we’ll ride in it baby
Jump inside my magical hat
And I’ll dispense
Three lifetimes’ wisdom’s wealth
I never was that much good at
Anything else other than that

And when I’ve settled on means to transformation for you
I’ll bake them in a pie
Though they always turn out more the texture of a crumble
A scent in your nose, and a song in your ear,
And the will to change in your head
Everyone around my kitchen table will meet somebody new
Even if they’re the only one sat there

I will show you who you really are
If you can just push yourself too far
You might be one of those happy few
To hunt the gravest game, a ye that once you knew

Once Around the Kitchen Table

Magical Hats

Written, recorded, programmed and produced by Uly Mars.

I know you’ve dreamed of her long
The girl you’ve seen four rooves along
Gazing with her lowered lids, seeing
Seeming further than you ever did, Nathaniel
Looking ‘cross tenement tops, them hot
With laundry and forget me nots, unwatered
Of an unremarkable man daughter’d
The compulsively observant may call her
The lucid dreamer

I suppose she doesn’t make me weak,
Or she didn’t til I heard her speak, I thought
I’d make an intro just for you, then
A question came parting through a closed lip
“Do you wish you’d come here for yourself?
Or did you mean to come for someone else?”
So, I stowed up my speakable jewels, and
Then I told your every secret to
The lucid dreamer

He sees you
He wants you
He fears you
He loves you
That is what he would say
In his staring, silent way

The burning sun is in his hole
The crickets sing, the moon is swole
She’s there, waiting for you,
You know what you’ve got to do, Nathaniel
Risk the reserve that is all your wealth
Be, and brother, beg be not, yourself
The outcome may be not so clean
Tell me, d’you prefer the lucid dream, or
The lucid dreamer?

Uly Mars

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