The Coming of the Dawn circa 1972

You came by and you knew my name
Trees in the forest fell in flame
Time, it stopped, and tides refused to run.
Mountains crumbled into dust
Towers fell in rings of rust
Wine in all my tumblers turned to blood.

Chorus
Don't go out in the dark tonight
Don't go out in the pale moonlight
Talk with me till we see the dawn
All outside is dark and wild
The devil's hunting down a child
Stay here till the rising of the sun.

First I wept then I moaned
A fire was burning in my bones
I wondered if I'd have it to be kind
I saw the tears you tried to hide
I felt the pain you kept inside
I knew I'd have to open up my mind.

Chorus
Don't go out......etc

I heard the wolves howl on your trail
I saw the knives and my blood ran pale
I sharpened up my swords and I threw the gauge
I kissed your eyes with a brother's care
I washed your feet and dried your hair
I barred the door against their howls of rage.

Chorus
Don't go out......etc

So now you're fed and warm with wine
The firelight has eased your mind
You think you'll go into the night again
But don't you hear that howling outside
They'd love to get this tiger's hide
And I'd have to guide you through the wind and the rain.

Chorus
Don't go out......etc

Don't Be Beastly to the British circa 1956

words and music by Tony Gambrill and Ken Lamb

Oh, don't be beastly to the British,
They have their troubles you can see;
What with Nasser and Bulganin
And they have another man in
Place of poor old Anthony E.

Oh, don't be beastly to the British,
There'll always be an England while there's cricket;
Don't remind them of the Mau Mau
Cos they're in the Cyprus row now
And they hope sometime in '59 to lick it.

Oh, don't be beastly to the British,
They have no petrol for their motor cars;
And Liberace and Monroe
Were in London for a show
Cos Hollywood has all their movie stars.

Oh, don't be beastly to the British,
Revolution's rife in Singapore;
The natives are demonic
In demanding gin and tonic
Where whiskey and soda did before.

Oh, don't be beastly to the British,
Aneurin Bevan's up to his old tricks;
The Irish are revolting
And the lion's mane is moulting
While Winnie Churchill goes on laying bricks.

Oh, don't be beastly to the British,
They're not too sure about their monarchy;
It was peachy at the altar
But the Duke went to Gibraltar
And the Yankee papers shouted "anarchy".

Oh, don't be beastly to the British,
There's thirty thousand of them coming here;
And when its 45 below
And we have 10 feet of snow
They'll just have another crumpet with their beer.

Oh, don't be beastly to the British,
A stiff upper lip with see them through;
Billy Grahame will excite them
And eventually invite them
To praise the Lord and praise the dollar too.