In the absence of any new artwork to post here, I thought I'd post some lyrics I wrote back in 2007, when I was still toying with the idea of being a 'sensitive' (ugh) singer-songwriter. Not to blow my own trumpet or indeed strum my own guitar, but I reckon they're pretty good.
Radio DazeAt the end of the school day when they opened the doors
He was the first kid to leave the place
He raced alone through the streets trying to clear his mind
Of the hatred and lies and disgrace
He’d throw his books on the bed and lose himself
In the afternoon radio show
And when he really heard music for the first time
He knew the direction that his life should go
He was wishing his childhood away
As ambitions and plans shaped his days
He walked around with his head in the clouds
Hearing nothing but songs through the haze
Like Brown-Eyed Handsome Man and Mystery Train
Sweet Little Sixteen, Peggy Sue and Nadine
Just Walkin’ In the Rain
And while the station’s signal was whistling and weak
The feelings came through loud and clear
Every beat of the drum, every Gretsch guitar strum
Felt like a sweet stolen kiss to the ear
Who’d have thought the scratchy grooves of a 78
Held the key to the hot Texan sun
He taught himself simple chords on a junk shop guitar
Until the race for sixteen was won
He knew the stars he admired were holding mirrors reflecting
The feelings and fears of his youth
He got more from those tracks than he got from his teachers
A simple asset we now call the truth
And while he worked in an office by day
He was living the dream every night
Practised his moves in the bathroom mirror
Until he’d got every one of them right
And if you asked him for his inspiration
He’d look you in the eye and answer you straight
“I can trace it all back to that Friday in late fifty-eight
I had never experienced ecstasy so deep and sublime
As the day when I really heard music for the very first time”
Six String AngelIt was a bloodshot night in a dead end town
And the bright November moon cast a white glow down
On the rain-soaked streets I strayed to after waking up shattered
I heard a sweet voice singing in a sunken tomb
So I pushed past the dogs and the thieves in the room
Saw you shining in the neon beam and nothing else really mattered
I was frozen in your presence, like a moth caught in a flame
In your eyes I saw a spirit no man could ever tame
With your Jetglo Rickenbacker and your deep dark chocolate eyes
The way you moved on that stage just held me hypnotized
All around I could hear rumours, speculation and lies
“She was born in a Midwestern town, both her parents worked for the police
And the more she kicked against the pricks the more her ambition increased
Saw her future stretched out before her in a rock show on TV”
And when she looked my way, the world melted away, leaving just her and me
You could see her, breaking hearts with a simple smile
You couldn’t reach her, you’d got the cash but you had no style
You could hear her, keeping up your private masquerade
But you couldn’t get near her, you’d stagger home alone when the price was paid
”She set up a spot playing Beatles songs outside Madison’s Second Hand Cars
She used to lie on the beach with a pill on her tongue dreaming of the Boulevard
She wrote a few songs for her buddies in bands before she left for bigger things
She knew it wouldn’t be long ‘til she was waiting backstage hearing screaming from the wings”…
She had amethyst eyes, burning like coal
She had porcelain skin, she had a heart of gold
She had the sinful moves, she had the voice of a siren
She had raven curls, she set my cylinders firing
Silk, velvet, lace and leather
She was stepping out in style
As the dry ice curled around her black suede boots
She walked the narrow line between pleasure and pain
With a swagger that would shame Mephistopheles
As she shattered the souls of the suburban punks and suits
”She quit that soul-destroying town when the pain became too raw
Jumped on the back of a Harley, held tight and felt the engine roar
Set her gaze on the glowing horizon, spent her nights on clean sheets and Jim Beam
In five short years the city by the bay was dancing to her beautiful dream”
I turned the radio down, it had nothing to say
I drove through the night looking for somewhere to stay
I found a small hotel, lay down on calico sheets
I heard my thoughts drowned out by my own heartbeat
I grabbed my ’66 Fender and fumbled for an opening riff
She might never hear it but I thought if she did
She could consider my song a gift
Peace BabyThe sun burst into the sky and shone
Like a medal polished to perfection
For the first time in six dark years
On that bright English morning
Beneath crystal blue skies, the flags and the fanfares
And the banners and bunting unfurled
Through the music and laughter
Beat the pulse of a new age dawning
The survivors, the wounded, the battle-scarred
Small town heroes found their way home
And children estranged from their parents
Returned to the fold
When the celebrations ceased they were told to
"Just look to the promising future"
So hundreds of charcoal black secrets
And tales lay untold
And in the uncertain climate
Of a broken land's weakened resources
To a traumatized family came
The gift of a son
Who knew celebration
But nothing of conflict and bloodshed
Just the high expectation
That came now the war had been won
He was told "people died for your future
And don't question the fortunate ones"
Whose eyes told the story
Of the price paid for glory
Who'd traded their welfare for fear
And their lovers for guns
Survival Of the Fittest Six o’clock in Nova Scotia and you’re running for the train
You’ve got to make it to the station or you’ll miss your charter plane
They serve you cigarettes and coffee with a choice of magazines
But you close your eyes and focus on potential movie scenes
With actors playing all the people that you’ve known
You’re dreaming deep when the detective takes the phone
And hears the news of your departure from the stranger with a scar
He’d bribed to stop you meeting your contact in Panama
And it’s a never-ending ride you have to take
And there’s no room for lousy timing or mistakes
And you know it can’t be long until your precious thread of sanity finally breaks
The survival of the fittest is the game you’ve got to play
Only the strongest will survive, maybe it’s always been that way
You can’t move until you think it through, be careful what you say
The survival of the fittest will continue until your dying day
Now you’re hiding in a garret somewhere in Europe, so I’m told
You’re posing as a starving writer, lonely, broke and freezing cold
But you open up your briefcase and your face begins to shine
From the precious glowing rubies as you sip your English wine
Take the long way back and hide your growing pain
The gentle ticking of a timebomb in your brain
If you thought too much about it, you would surely go insane
Two hours of sweet repose, then you’re on the road again…
There’s a place, I know a place
You’ll find yourself relaxing, winding down where nobody knows your face
There’s no disgrace
In cooling down between appointments, taking time to drop out of the race
New York City Night Outside my window a bus makes its way through the snowstorm
The TV in the corner’s tuned into the six o’clock news
The smell of linguini is heavy and sweet in the hallway
As I pocket my dead presidents and I lace up my shoes
I hail a ballpark mustard-coloured cab as it stalls on the corner
The driver’s tapping the dashboard in time with a song
About Hollywood nights and the kings of the black and white movies
Drifting out of the speakers and inviting him to sing along
I duck inside a cellar bar and I order a whisky
There’s a blue neon sign on the door and a strong smell of sin
The waitress smiles at the welcome sight of a stranger
And I can’t help feeling she’s been waiting too long to give in
She pops a top and we talk over cold beer and French fries
About family values turned bad and her need to escape
She tells me she’s still waiting for a call from the boss at the Blue Note
Two years after mailing him a photo and a demo tape
There’s a kaleidoscope of madness on the street outside
For every heartbroken waster there’s a black-eyed bride
For every good luck charm there’s a secret to hide
So deep inside…
Back in my hotel I call up the desk for a nightcap
The porter brings brandy and Canada Dry on a tray
I drain the bottles and stare rheumy-eyed at the late show
And I fall into slumber as the last amber lights melt away
Another Friday Night On the street of broken promises, the usual crowd appear
With their used car styles and their second-hand smiles
As another Friday night draws near
With her back to the crowd in a soul food bar, a bright young thing stands tall
Playing pinball and drinking down her sorrows and thinking
How she’ll ever rise above it all
Another Friday night and the telephone rings
It brings another disappointment that burns and stings
Trying to make amends with our backs against the wall
Another Friday night and the world slowly falls apart
Who wants to know or care about another broken heart
As one by one you watch your heroes fall
And you know it makes no difference after all
In the men’s room next to the pool sharks, another killer deal goes down
And this time tomorrow one family’s sorrow means another pinky ring for some clown
Outside in the alley Sally’s gravel-kneed, saying prayers in the rain for a trick
While Suzy finishes her game and thinks it’s all insane how the big city got so sick
Well, maybe the city’s not to blame, but society is
Maybe it’s a crying shame, she’s worth better than this
Maybe she should bare her soul, instead of just baring her chest
But brains don’t sell the Sunday papers, and talent’s not enough to impress
