Just For the Hell of it!

Terry

Just for the hell of it I wrote lyrics for

_______________________

THE JAMES BOND THEME

___________

Espionage, guns, and gadgets,

It’s Double-oh 7‘s badge it’s

Big trouble down ‘round Jamaica

Insidious trouble maker

M doubled down: sends assassin

Bond to the countdown, kicks ass and

Outwits … Dr No

____

Dark dangerous dames

he wrangles,

Then knottiest plots untangles

Bold silhouette in the doorway

Quick- gotta make things go your way

Bond’s gotta teach Dent his lesson

Count when you shoot

Smith and Wesson

“And you’ve … had your six!”

***(BEBOP)***

High stakes and

sweet distraction

Shall Shake and stir you

This Double oh attraction

So sure to lure you

Give all you got or get gone

Hang fire or Cool it

Pussy Galore for James Bond

Fist fights and bullets

Gold plots and Butler hats

Bulgars and sewer rats

High stakes to

gamble on

Bad breaks a

ticking bomb

COUNTDOWN…COUNTDOWN

Throw down for showdown!

________________

**(Reprise)**

He’s debonair and

he’s ruthless

Don’t pick a fight or you’re toothless

If fisticuffs are in order

it’s gonna be bloody murder

Fate’s got a new Hill to die on

That’s when he knows to rely on

Q’s tricks - MI6

What poisonous

spider crawling

Or venomous

snake appalling

Some sizzling

laser torture

Could possibly

cause departure?

What Thunderball plot could drop him?

No nuclear yacht

can stop him

James Bond saves the day!

Oh oh seven…

Oh oh seven

oh oh seven

oh oh seven: BOND!

______

“AWAY”

The child was born the day before the child was born.
(A quirk of geography and calendar)

His parents named him Tomorrow Yesterday on the Arctic island where time begins;
an island called LongYearGoneBy where the sun never rises and the sun never sets
and there has never been a night sky.

He grew.
As he grew, Tomorrow Yesterday wore no shoes. He refused.
His eyes were the color of Wednesday and his hair
curled like the edges of November frost.

There were no other children to play with and his loneliness kept him awake.
To fill the hours, he scribbled strange sentences in a language nobody knew.
Stories crept into his mind, demanding to be written about those who had come
before there were men, or beasts.
He recited macabre stories to his parents; the sounds only gibberish - so it seemed.

Out of context, he’d laugh out loud and the sound of it rang strange to his parent’s ears.
They worried he’d gone mad as they had done before him.

Seventeen years and one day later, Tomorrow Yesterday
stood before his caretakers; stoic resolve painted his expression.
Whispering barely loud enough for them to hear:
“I’m leaving and never coming back.”
He slightly braced - as though ready to fend off what came.

“You can’t leave. We are not like any other souls who now live.
You’d be despised. Others will turn on you and drive you out. As we were.”

He made to go - but something stopped him and he shook his head,

wondering in his gut if it were true.

Again seventeen years passed and both parents died. Were they ever alive at all?
He wondered. More emptiness than before crushed him.
Tom Yester (newly self-named) steeled himself, summoning the will to gather
supplies into the only boat on LongYearGoneBy; setting off in the direction of
“Away,” stencilled in black paint on the prow.

Happenings
As the happenings began - the young man swallowed hard and rubbed his eyes.
All he’d ever beheld was merciless bright, white, light.
Now his eyes were dying - or - was it light itself?
Light smeared with tinges, tones, tangs of mysterious tints and shades.
Warped swirls of magnetic magic manifested. Into the sea plunged the smoldering light.
With the ghosts of daylight came the night.

First Night
Tom lay on the deck of the boat with its stuttering motor muttering behind him. At first he wept and laughed as he beheld natural darkness - a profound inky blackness his eyes had never beheld. Billions of points of light penetrated black sky and he couldn’t restrain his terror. Possessed by fanatical laughter, he danced about barefoot and sang weird melodies.
Tunes in no key known to mankind since primordial ooze birthed life,

He sat naked as the moon appeared, massive…gargantuan…brilliant against the field of stars. Leaping to his feet, Tom ran about the deck waving his arms as though he were an albatross aloft on a gale and gulping the silvered milk of moonlight sweet upon his tongue. This Magical night lasting until it lasted no more.

First Skylight
The impossible miracle dawning on the horizon of his first skyline crept
violent as violet purple bled into orange, then red. Bursting into the flower of incendiary yellow, blasting Tom Yester with a tempest of pure ecstasy!
“It’s good to be ALIVE!” Screamed he, as if “to be” was to be free.

It was all true - everything he had never been told.

(Who has greater faith than the liars who believe their own lies?)
Always…always. Inside himself, he had known all along.

He was just another soul adrift on a silver sea, on a summer morning.
(Without a plan, a map, or a penny.)

Terrible Secret

By noon he reached land.
Here it was.
All of it, or some of it, or none of it - he couldn’t know.

The land of mutants; survivors of that awful war.
Ugly. Deformed. Misshapen. Infertile.
Worst of all - very angry as Tomorrow Yesterday came into view.

So ready were they all. So ready to welcome him.
The blood red teeth beyond weird smiles said it all.

Their eyes met his and his smile seemed to falter a moment - like the wobble of a gull’s wings when a downdraft topples equilibrium and the world spins upside down.

In Tom’s final moments, what mattered most mattered not at all.
Friends, family, or Tomorrow.
All destroyed and for what?

That night - and every night thereafter, Tomorrow Yesterday slept soundly where the sun never rises and the sun never sets and there’d be no future anymore.

All life had gone where the white goes when the snow melts.
Gone where?
At the end, Tom knew. Tom knew for sure. There is only one place you can go…

-AWAY-

__________

Just For the Hell of it!

Terry

Terry

Beth Sarim

neat blue dog

Terry

Terry

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