Dartington 2004 by Mike Keating Lyrics
Y'r man Ludwig had a nerve. Believing the absurd,
That one man constrained by time
Using one pen and five lines
Could blow the greatest safe of all.
Best cracksman in the trade, so I'd heard,
And a gentleman - well, that is absurd! But
Leaving the master key hidden in dots
For two hundred years takes a certain cheek.
Sure, I'd seen him work before.
Circling the citadel, tunnelling deep
and rattling doors. Spinning every dial
For the one hit that would spring the final lock
Although I'd seen him cut keys,
Placing them amongst the clefs
I'd ignored them. Thought his style too refined.
His material inclined to break against force;
Perhaps to melt in heat.
We met again at Dartington in 04
Him drifting in on a gentle trill. Smart-suited,
Cool as cheese. Perfectly at ease,
Unboxing and unleashing his tools through the violins
Watching content as jemmy, conductor, chisel
Went to work with a will
Prising and forcing the bricks and boards of the ancient hall
Busily burrowing through the walls.
Yet with the sound swelling,
inflamed by the evening sun reddening the room
He decided on a stronger attack.
So, glancing at me, smiling and touching his hat
He crouched low
Growing to an unshapen mass of fur and fury
Whirling repeatedly against the weakening walls.
The floor buckling, stone crumbling, dissolving.
And, for encore,
Tearing away the dam with tooth and claw.
In the strongest light. the brightest force
Flooding the old hall,
Myself and the others bobbed helpless in the swell.
More man than animal
He climbed out and stood on the shore
Tipped his hat
And, smiling brightly with shortening teeth,
Strode up towards the hills.
Dropping his claws, languidly, into the score.
The tide turned and all settled still.
But beached in tiny pools, remained some;
Floating on a small sense of what they might yet become.
That one man constrained by time
Using one pen and five lines
Could blow the greatest safe of all.
Best cracksman in the trade, so I'd heard,
And a gentleman - well, that is absurd! But
Leaving the master key hidden in dots
For two hundred years takes a certain cheek.
Sure, I'd seen him work before.
Circling the citadel, tunnelling deep
and rattling doors. Spinning every dial
For the one hit that would spring the final lock
Although I'd seen him cut keys,
Placing them amongst the clefs
I'd ignored them. Thought his style too refined.
His material inclined to break against force;
Perhaps to melt in heat.
We met again at Dartington in 04
Him drifting in on a gentle trill. Smart-suited,
Cool as cheese. Perfectly at ease,
Unboxing and unleashing his tools through the violins
Watching content as jemmy, conductor, chisel
Went to work with a will
Prising and forcing the bricks and boards of the ancient hall
Busily burrowing through the walls.
Yet with the sound swelling,
inflamed by the evening sun reddening the room
He decided on a stronger attack.
So, glancing at me, smiling and touching his hat
He crouched low
Growing to an unshapen mass of fur and fury
Whirling repeatedly against the weakening walls.
The floor buckling, stone crumbling, dissolving.
And, for encore,
Tearing away the dam with tooth and claw.
In the strongest light. the brightest force
Flooding the old hall,
Myself and the others bobbed helpless in the swell.
More man than animal
He climbed out and stood on the shore
Tipped his hat
And, smiling brightly with shortening teeth,
Strode up towards the hills.
Dropping his claws, languidly, into the score.
The tide turned and all settled still.
But beached in tiny pools, remained some;
Floating on a small sense of what they might yet become.