Richard Dawson - The Ice-Breaker Baikal lyrics

My name is Sylvester Herbert, I live on Bird's Nest Road To my darling Rebecca, the end of spring I was betrothed We grew up together on Flodden Street, though as children we were sworn enemies I work at Armstrong & Mitchell's, I am a welder there And in between our toiling, in every moment spare We're trying for a baby of our own The house isn't much to look at yet, though we'll get there soon enough Every time there's a heavy storm, the rain comes bruising through the roof Splashing in my chamber pot, it sounds like a distant hammer We've carpet with purple flowers in almost every room As bald as my own father's head, still better than bare floorboards When there comes a little one, we'll buy some nice rugs I gently pat with a teaspoon, the crown of a soft boiled egg And flick upon flick I peel away the crackled shell I take my coffee strong and black in a cup the size of coal scuttle A handful of green beans, gooseberries and tomatoes The pickled trotters from a pig and a brick of bread all wrapped up in Two little parcels of brown paper tied with bright red string This morning as I walked down to work, I am in a world of my own I bump into a lamp-post, and fall arse over tit The only one who sees it is a three-legged cat sunbathing on a hot flagstone I tickle him on the belly and swear him not to tell He meows "Stop this silliness, Syl" and shooing me away The sunlight dancing in his eyes reminds me of confetti For the last three years and a little bit more, at a cost of five young men We've been building a very special ship, before not seen the likes of which The Ice-Breaker Baikal, five thousand tonnes of sweat and blood And now she's being dismantled, a giant jigsaw puzzle Heading to St. Petersburg, then on to Listvenichnaya Where she'll be rea**embled by the banks of the lake which bears her name But things are never quiet, there's always much to be done And the workshop on a day like this, is hotter than the f**ing sun I spend the morning dreaming of a pint with an everlasting creamy head And beads of evaporation slowly trickling down the gla** I let it sit there for a while, I've got to make this moment last And when the daydream flows across my lips this endless thirst shall pa** The sky is baring its knuckles, my eyes are aching sore You're best to keep them squinted tight, and let the flowers of frost there grow Impossible to tell, where the heavens end and the world begins The wind is an ancient bell, fair ringing in our ears Stinging our cheekbones and trying everything thing it knows To find a way to sneak inside the folds of our coats The bough smashing through the ice sounds like a mountain breathing Heaving up and crashing down, across the frozen field we plough Leaving in our wake, a thread of shimmering darkness Churning up bright slabs, the size of great dinner plates The size of our front door, tossed about with easy grace A monolithic fountain pen descending down a page We come upon an island, a wondrous sight to see That out here in the middle of nowhere, such a splendid thing could be And though the locals wear their face tight, in a mask of weather and time They welcome us into the world with a stew of boiled goat And a jig played on a horse head fiddle, commencing a great downpour Of whisky made from fermented milk which goes in our stomachs like hot coals Walking naked in the dark, to the lake within the lake Singing a song of snow, crunching in between my toes Arriving at the shore we find there floating a raft of human bones Lashed soundly together, with kudzu vines dyed by starlight And pushing off I drape my hand, like a curtain through the water To find the outstretched fingertips of my unborn daughter