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Album: The End of History (2006)
Artists: Fionn Regan

  1. Abacus
  2. Be Good or Be Gone
  3. Black Water Child
  4. Bunker or Basement
  5. Cowshed
  6. End of History
  7. Hey Rabbit
  8. Hunters Map
  9. Noah (Ghost in a Sheet)
  10. Put a Penny in the Slot
  11. Snowy Atlas Mountains
  12. Underwood Typewriter


Fionn Regan
The End of History
Put a Penny in the Slot
I apologise,
seem to have arrived,
On what items in my bag from your house.
There's cutlery,
a tablecloth, some Hennessy,
And a book on Presidents deceased.
I'll have them fed-exed to you,
It was a strange thing to do,
I hope we can still be friends.
Ah, it was not me,
but someone else, you see,
Twisting the steering reins.

Put a penny in the slot and make an
artificial li-ii-iight shine,
Leave go-ooo. Mark old and line.

I don't give advise,
But be wise and think twice,
Before getting involved in a game.
Where the minority
Face the majority,
Who are faceless and born without names.
Was it knock synch when
we came across three men,
They had church candles wrapped in newspaper.
I bought two from them,
And I'll lit one for you,

I hope the message made it's way down the wire.

Put a penny in the slot and make an
artificial li-ii-iight shine,
Leave go-ooo. Mark old and line.

The soul of a dog,
he's alive and not gone
To the farm like the others said.
A Rhodesian richback,
Off the beaten track,
In a furniture shop down on the quays.
For the lonliness you foster,
I suggest Paul Oster,
A book called Timbuktu.

Put a penny in the slot and watch the
Drunken sailor boy dance.
She will not let you be
Her lov-ver.
She goes out looking for
The taxi.
Her phone is ringing straight to
Message-minder.
Send out a battalion to
Find her.

Put a penny in the slot and count the
Swans through a te-elescope.
I can't help from cryin'
I wish you were mine.

When I was seventeen,
I followed my dream,
Up into a high-rise block.
The adventures of Augie March,
By Saul Bel-low,
Was all I had for company.
At night time I'd lie
In Beckingham pike,
With tears like flashbulbs.
And recall my treasure-
Searching days,
In the rock pools as a kid.

To the remains of
The cherub plains,
Or around the bonfire in Nailors’ cove.
Good company and grief
Sit like a dark leaf,
Sits beside a singing nett-le.

Put a penny in the slot and make an
artificial li-ii-iight shi-iine,
Leave go-ooo. My golden arm
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