Put a Penny in the Slot

Fionn ReganFionn Regan 

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Fionn Regan

Fionn Regan (born 1981) is an Irish folk musician and singer-songwriter. Born and raised in Bray, Regan came to prominence with the release of his debut studio album, The End of History in 2006. He had been releasing extended plays for six years prior to the album's release on independent record labels. Regan's second studio album, The Shadow of an Empire was released in 2010 to positive reviews and his third studio album, 100 Acres of Sycamore, was released in 2011. more »

Year:

2007

59 Views

Playlists:

#1

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I apologize, 
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 loneliness you foster, 
I suggest Paul Auster, 
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 doc 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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