Here's a song for Clean Machine Kevin Majorca He's found his own way of "live in Majorca" Don't walk, don't drink Don't talk, just think Heaven on Earth he'll get there soon Kevin's highly unlikely to get ill At least as long as he lies perfectly still He eats brown rice and fish – how nice Heaven on Earth, he'll get there soon Good and bad go so well together in his tunes He'll write a song and call it the weather – or not He's Lucky or Pozzo, Estragon and Vladimir Waiting for something that's already there Heaven on Earth or is it the moon? Why, why, why is he sleeping? Why is the trumpeter weeping? Kevin maybe asking to get back into my dreams His voice is so weak now and the customers are screaming Heavens above, we can't hear what you're saying We've got something to tell you Hold on we wanted to thrill you Reckons it's so nice and it will make you feel better Something in the nature of a Lullabye Letter Kevin on Earth there'll be one Kevin on Earth make room for one Kevin himself he'll be in Kevin on Earth, be here Or you could be now Or is he found, in Herne Bay...