Neath!

"Read all about it! Read all about it!"

"Biscuit rations to increase by decree of the Masters!"

"Missing baby found in spider's we— oh"

"Well, hello there, friend"

"That shiny badge tells me you're here with the Ministry of Accounting and Recounting"

"Taking the census?"

"Oh, well, you've picked a spot, alright"

"There's no shortage of colourful characters here in the Neath"

"And they all pass through here at The Singing Mandrake"

"Let old Harry Teller show you about"

"There's a fellow up top by the name of Robert Rackett"

"But, these days, everyone calls him Honest Bob"

"He can talk for England"

"I should say you pay him a visit"

Nice to meet you, guv'nor, what you want to know?

Trying to keep a track of numbers now we're dumped here down below? Oh!

Fine, come take a look, you'll see, I'm an open book to read

Something took the city, then this city really took to me

I'm not a crook or thief, I just do what I got to do

Bloke's still got to eat, beef is more than a bob or two

In a ditch and out the picture, London's withering in walls which are

Far too steep a pitch to climb, but steep just makes the tealeaf richer

See it, did you? Oh, it takes me back

Day like any other that became the Day of Wrath

As the monuments were toppled and the cobbles writhed and jostled

And the skies above were gobbled by a raging plague of bats

Stuck down in the Neath, drowning in disease

Air sticks to your teeth, it's thick and viscous with the whispers in the breeze

Tried to earn an honest bob, but a Bob is just a Robert

And a Robert's just a robber to a tee (Robert's just a robber to a tee)

Wasn't much, but used to run a comfy shop

One half fell down the hole, the till's still sitting up the top

Now the Masters are in charge, it's rather dark the things they've barred

But every market turns to black as soon as all the lights are off

Portobello sort of fellow shifting stock down Shaftesbury Avenue

Most coppers came a cropper, so they stopped the "let's be having you"

Random that they've banned them, but I have accrued a map or two

And since they took the signs, the maps ain't half collecting value

Counting off the days to die, it's a solitary life

Can't help but thinking I should cop myself a wife

An Eliza, Nellie, Nancy, here to hold me tight at night

Well, a lady's tastes is fancy, but still, coal is twice the price

Oh, wouldn't it be lovely to find a counterpart?

'Cause I'd do anything to put love's fire in the hearth

I can cook and I can clean, but, Neath be damned, a man can dream

Sell my soul, but I won't ever fence my heart

Nothing left but crumbs down here in London

Do what must be done to make ends meet

Run-in with the blunt end of a truncheon

Closest thing I've had to love in weeks

Doesn't mean a thing whose heights were wuthering

Dumped down in the guttering, nouveau-riche

Who you was before London went tumbling

Doesn't matter squat to who you'll be

Now, this here is one Miss Cassie Haversham

Life of the party and pulls a darned sign more than pints

Anybody who didn't lose everything still lost something during the fall

But I should say they might have found a good deal more than they left behind

Go and have a chat

Way up on the surface, chap by name of Clyde

Clerking for a firm of vermin purely to provide

For a wife who never liked him, every day was made to hide

The other person, soft, but certain, that resided deep inside

Some may cast an eye, but, darling, why should I?

Be the prim and proper office boy for every passer-by?

I give us a year, maybe two, if we're lucky, then a few

But the former me embraced the chance to die

Clyde can take a backseat, Cassie's turn to drive

Who can say on any day who gets the reins? Enjoy the ride

When it comes to who I am, I wear the trousers, or I don't

Oh, darling, won't you see that London's at its best de-gentrified?

I gave love a go, nothing short of woe

What's the sense repeating empty feelings stuck below?

The high and mighty in the sky might find me

Wildly improprietous, but, in a hole, well, how're they gonna know?

Done with companionship, hassle it brings

Don't need the baggage that's strapped to a ring

I'll take the packages, lay off the strings

'Cause when they aren't attached, it's my favourite thing

There are devils in the streets, what's an extra in the sheets?

Either way, you'll be beneath, so take a fling, woo! (Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha)

There's a sorry-looking pantry and the kitchen's on the brink

And I'm worried that they'll catch the taste of river in the drinks

Not a sausage from Her Maj, it's like the riddle of the Sphinx

Why she's holed up in her palace as her kingdom ever sinks?

Hard to pay the rent at all when plagued by the nonsensical

It's daily an acquaintance 'twixt the strange and the unmentionables (oh)

Who can blame a dame in situations unconventional?

A basement full of tentacles, but waiting on a gent to call

Or a lady friend or several to get me through the nights

To place me on a pedestal and set to seeing me right

It pays to be quite flexible, and, truly, who am I?

To cater to convention and eschew these new delights?

If you came for documenting, tick whatever box you like

You've got Pages full of questions, but I left my lot behind

They're praying for ascension, but this bird ain't keen to flight

It's a shame it took descent into the depths to see the light

Nothing much for fun down here in London

Trot along the Thames, admire the views

Stumble in and pass our evenings drunken

'Til the day the pubs run out of booze

Sorry that we're out of grouse for luncheon

Suckle on your husk of crusted bread

Hunger does a number down in London

Watch you'll get a darker taste instead

"Alright, alright, you horrible lot! Settle down! Settle down!"

"You're incorrigible, the lot of ya! Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha"

"Here, you see that gentleman in the cornet?

"Yeah, the fancy sort"

"That is a Mister Byron Brimstone"

"Comes by on occasion, just watches folks, nary a word"

"But I'd wager your Ministry get-up might just get his attention"

"Go and see if he'll indulge you"

How quaint it is, are you the one they've sent to take a name?

I'd say it if I could, but I might set the place aflame

Metaphorically, of course, you see, I've rather gained a fame

From Claridge's to Harrods, well, their charred, decayed remains

I'm a landed man of standing known in every club still standing

From the Abbey to the Strand, you'll find my calendar demanding

I'm a wit of high precision and my manners are enchanting

As befitting my position as a real and human man-thing

Tell me, friend, have you heard the call to peep behind the veil? (Behind the veil)

Tell, me friend, do you hear the shadows sing? (The shadows sing)

Tell me, friend, do you think one day that demons might prevail? (They might prevail)

Tell me, friend, do you believe in such a thing?

I'm an academic sport, quite despite my fine rapport

See, my friend, you're not the only one compiling a report

Whilst the others at my station may not share my fascination

Rest assured my occupation is the normal, mortal sort

You're a fascinating species, of which I am, too, of course

Blessed with soul so thick and treacly I could easily have it corked

In the ceaseless stream of freakery the underneath has wrought

It's not beast, the deep or bleak, but speak of love you seem to squawk

Are your eyes not newly opened to this paradise you've found?

To this dark, arcane arcadia encaved beneath the ground?

Where death, as but a wheel within a wheel, spins ever round

Upon a mortal coil, a spring the likes of we have never wound?

You're a cast of fools and bastards so disastrously inclined

Yet far more entertaining than the vast lot of my kind

So feeble, weak and plebian, and, yet, you pique the mind

Companions are beneath me, or, perhaps, they're ill-defined

You know the higher folds can tire, observing from above?

Chance your wholesome, little doldrum might just serve a spot of buzz?

When it comes to baring souls, I tend to keep things bottled up

But, perchance, it might be droll to take a stroll among the rough

Hm, hm, heh-heh-heh

"Go on, toddle on"

"I'll be seeing you"

Every worried soul in this sorry hole

Lost, forgotten and with all tomorrows stole

Dead and buried, but the dead are very

Much aware of it and, hell, they've paid an horrid toll

How'd we come to be? Down here underneath?

Doubt we'll ever feel the Sun upon our cheeks

Never see another summer, but we've one another

Lust or comfort, love or some relief

Someone to hold me tightly

Someone to treat me rightly

Someone to come shun the ennui and the boredom

With one to hold me closely

Nights mightn't be so lonely

Stranded helpless in the dark and reaching for them

London town laid to rest underground

But yet still deeper down are we

Falling, falling, falling, falling

See them scurry as the rat within the maze

Puzzulary and yet how they fascitate!

Insignifoportant, if cachophocordant

Hunting for a heart to cherisffectionate

Could they only see serendestiny

Death and broken dreams, hellish chemistries

Their apocaclysm spawns a clockanism

Requessary behind their fathometry

Every infatuation, each glance of gladoration

Toothsome cogs of upon our grand enmachinations

Each soul impassionated, hearts stole or lacerated

Each tale impaled by the quill tip to the pages

As the ink bleeds, how I drink these

Narratary little sips of histories

Every skipped beat now to drip feed

Something buried deep in enigmystery

All ends

Swords, pens

Foretent

Phenomonition

Court then

Torment

Love's bent

Definition

Cold and unprepared, wholly unawares

Chronologging their enhidden love affairs

Theresa a currency more potiont underneath

And darker yet beyond that missing Sun of theirs

When you've had to live your life in London

You feel right at home with skies of grey

Ever since the something took us under

Well, a sky of stone looks quite the same

Happens that your city's stuck and sunken

Nothing to be done, so step in time

Maybe what you'll find in Fallen London

Might be more than what you've left behind

Ever now the Sun's in down in London

Up's a bunch of nothing, night and day

Wonder what it was deep down here slumbering

'Til it came to take those skies away

Stuck with some involuntary spelunking

And you'll find the hole's too deep to climb

But if you should rise from Fallen London

Maybe think of all you'll leave behind

"Right, that's it! That's it, everyone, last orders!"

"You reprobates, last orders! Come on, I gotta get my beauty sleep!"

"Well, there you have it, my friend"

"I should say you'll have filled out a fair few forms tonight and no mistake"

"The Sun ought to be out soon"

"Not that we'll see the likes of it down here"

"Me? Oh, there's nought remarkable about Harry Teller worth noting down"

"Besides, I've been dead for a week"

"I feel alright now though"

"Wotcher, ta-ra"

"Read all about it! Read all about it!"

"Biscuit rations to increase by decree of the Masters!"

("Baby found in spider's web!")