1. Little Lucifer

From the recordings Banishment and Hard To Find

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Vocal: Tom Fairnie
Harmony vocal: Bernard Brogue, Mark Barnett, Ken Kennedy, Robin Brill, Tom Fairnie
Guitar: Tom Fairnie
2nd Guitar: Mark Barnett
Percussion: Robin Brill
Bass: Ken Kennedy
Harmonica: Ken Kennedy
Pedal Steel Guitar: Alastair Taylor
Mandolin: Andrew Taylor
Banjo: Andrew Taylor
Slide Guitar & Dobro: Bruce Hogg


Little Lucifer

We let little Lucifer out of his box
And made him dance at our feet
He kept time with the old tick tock
Never skipped a beat
He spoke in Spanish that old loving tongue
Danced till his little hooves bled
We were just devils out on the town
Trying to taint it red

And it’s hard being good and it’s easy to be bad
Ask any sinner you meet
Going straight will drive you crooked and mad
Best walk on the wild side of the street

I saw a little stuntman hitting on a blonde
It was Labour Day in the rain
He was trying to buy back the ring that he pawned
Got a firecracker for his pain
The sky was twisting round the chimneystacks
I was choking on the velvet air
I saw a little sweat trickle down her back
You could tell she just didn’t care

Well it’s hard being good and it’s easy to be bad…

Heard a ghost bell ringing ‘cross the lake
I guess they drowned that town
I was just sleepwalking, trying not to wake
When I heard that rusted sound
It rang for the dead in the dead, dead of night
For the nighthawks at the cross
Little drunken devils in the diner’s dim light
Licking habanero FireGirl Sauce

Well it’s hard being good and it’s easy to be bad…

Saw a little red haired boy drinking Louisiana Cane
The devil knows how he feels
He’d lightning forking out from his veins
Thunder rolling off his heels
He was watching a little old dancing bear
And the bear was watching him
Looked like they were kind of connected there
Like the sleeper and the sin

Well it’s hard being good and it’s easy to be bad...

© Little Lucifer words and music by Tom Fairnie 11th June 2005

There is a hollow at the base of your spine.
My fingers are there
Spelling out the texture of this rhyme.
And is that a sleepy smile
Scanning the conspiracy of each line
For irregularities,
As if a wayward bump would prove the crime
To be worthwhile.

Disconnected Poem © Bob Shields