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The Night the Pugilist Learned How to Dance – Sting

In the streets around here there was nobody tougher than me,
I was quick with me fists and fast with me footwork as you can plainly see,
But while fighting was useful for getting your way,
Among the toughs of the town where you could hold sway,
There had to be something that was better than this,
I was fifteen years old and I’d never been kissed.

Well of course she’d ignore me, her friends would all sneer,
At me bloody nose dripping and me cauliflower ear,
For it’s hard to convince in a romantic pose,
With a lovely black eye and a broken nose,
Where a girl is attracted to skills more refined,
Than the pugilist’s art, and so I inclined,
To take meself serious as a modern romancer,
And I secretly learnt all the moves of a dancer.

Ye swing to the left, ye swing to the right,
Keep your eyes on your partner, more or less like a fight,
Ye just follow the rhythm, and ye keep to the beat,
The important thing’s never to look at your feet,
Then a miracle happens, your mind’s in a trance,
Though the strategy’s subtle, retreat and advance,
It’s all about attitude, all in your stance,
Attention to detail, leaving nothing to chance,
Which explains how the pugilist finally learned how to dance.

Well, I’d waltz with a broomstick and if I was caught,
I’d pretend I was sweeping or practicing sport,
But I really had eyes for your mother ye see,
Wanting her to acknowledge this new version of me,
But now everyone’s watching, expecting I’ll fail,
But there’s fire in me belly, there’s wind in me sails,
I knew it was risky and I was taking a chance,
I couldn’t retreat now, I had to advance.

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So I swing to the left, I swing to the right,
Keep me eyes on me partner, like I would in a fight,
I just keep to the rhythm and follow the beat,
The important thing’s never to look at yr feet,
But a miracle’s happened, and your mind’s in a trance,
They’re all laughing and cheering and looking askance,
On the night that the pugilist finally learned how to dance.

It’s a three-minute round and you’re back in yr corner,
You’re licking yr wounds just like little Jack Horner,
Don’t let your guard down try a jab with your right,
Or you’re losing on points by the end of the night,
Then a miracle happens, and everyone’s screaming,
You’re pinching yourself just in case you’re still dreaming,
You’ve taken the initiative, you’ve taken your chance,
It’s the night when this pugilist finally learned how to dance.

In a bout where the strategist’s bridges were burned,
Where it seemed that his fortune had suddenly turned,
‘Twas the night that this scrapper was suddenly dapper,
And this poor fellow’s heart was still going like the clappers,
The night that the pugilist finally learned how to dance.

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Clear or Cloudy – Sting

Cleare or cloudie sweet as April showring,
Smooth or frowning so is hir face to mee,
Pleasd or smiling like milde May all flowring,
When skies blew silke and medowes carpets bee,
Hir speeches notes of that night bird that singeth,
Who thought all sweet yet jarring notes outringeth.

Hir grace like June, when earth and trees bee trimde,
In best attire of compleat beauties height,
Hir love againe like sommers daies bee dimde,
With little cloudes of doubtfull constant faith,
Hir trust hir doubt, like raine and heat in Skies,
Gently thundring, she lightning to mine eies.

Sweet sommer spring that breatheth life and growing,
In weedes as into herbs and flowers,
And sees of service divers sorts in sowing,
Some haply seeming and some being yours,
Raine on your herbs and flowers that truly serve,
And let your weeds lack dew and duly starve.

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Weep You No More, Sad Fountain – Sting

Weep you no more, sad fountains;
What need you flow so fast?
Look how the snowy mountains
Heav’n’s sun doth gently waste.
But my sun’s heav’nly eyes
View not your weeping
That now lies sleeping,
Softly, softly, now softly lies sleeping.

Sleep is a reconciling,
A rest that Peace begets.
Doth not the sun rise smiling
When fair at e’en he sets
Rest you then, rest, sad eyes,
Melt not in weeping
While she lies sleeping,
Softly, softly, now softly lies sleeping.

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What Say You Meg? – Sting

What say you Meg?

There’s an house on the hill that’s come off for sale
It’s a place I have known since I was a lad
And it needs only a carpenter an hour and a nail
Whit the spur of the boy of dream I’ve always had

I climbed up the hill with the evening news
I’ve been sent from the town to deliver
And I stand in the porch and gaze at the views
’til my eyes are bruised by the sunset’s glow and the river

I’d imagined a girl with whom share my life
As dreamers are all tempted to do
And the face I always come up
Was no one else but you

What say you Meg?
What’s the story’s ending
I want you Meg
By my side
What’s the use Meg
To gaze at the view on your own?

For rich or for poorer
In sickness in health
I will see this through Meg
No chance of this ending
Such a view Meg
As we gaze
From the house on the hill

To love and to cherish
To heaven to odd
I’m a hard man to beat
If I’m maybe so bored

And I promise it all by the sword of my brow
Tell me what say you Meg now?

What say you Meg
How’s the story shaping
I want you Meg
As we gaze from the house on the hill

For rich or for poorer
In sickness in health
I’ll be hard to replace
If I say so myself
And I promise it all by the sword of my brow
Tell me what say you Meg now?

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