Hip Hug-Her - Booker T. And The M.G.'s
Satisfied (Part 1) - DC Fontana
Blue Water - Doves
Tomorrow's Horoscope - Skeleton Suite
Friends - Cymande
Submariner - Evil J & Saint Cecilia
Her Eyes Are a Blue Million Miles - Captain Beefheart
Ladykiller - Doc Holliday Takes the Shotgun
Spare Room - Autumn Owls
Sally Forgets - Redspencer
Take It To The People - The Woggles
Shame - Otis Heat
You Are - The Joint
This Garden - Jo Bywater
Going To Go - The Ventriloquists
Loose Collective - Modern Skins
by Patrick Kavanagh
It is tragic to be a poet now
And not a lover
Paradised under the mutest bough.
I look through my window and see
The ghost of life flitting bat-winged.
O I am as old as a sage can even be,
O I am as lonely as the first fool kinged.
The horse in his stall turns away
From the hay-filled manger, dreaming of grass
Soft and cool in hollows. Does he neigh
Jealousy-words for John MacGuigan's ass
That never was civilised in stall or trace.
An unmusical ploughboy whistles down the lane
Not worried at all about the fate of Europe.
While I sit here feeling the subtle pain
Of one whose Tree of God has been uprooted.