1. |
Ye Olde Night Out
03:01
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YE OLDE NIGHT OUT
What is this foul and fetid petri dish?
Hunched, shivering, soiled culture
Gingham fiddlers strum out filth
With contrived American vowels
Twisting with coils of cigarette smoke
The stench of reheated hatred
Born anew, brewed in the bogs
Christening the gutters
Whilst the drainpipe moustachioed circle jerk
Quaff, quiff and quiver
Along to infantile beats
Tightly held mugs
Of organic British backwash
Spill over like roaming hands
On the cab ride back
The “in her” crowd
Stay behinds
Suckered in by flesh tentacles
Spat out and thriving
Swept, mopped and bleached
A merry go round of the familiar
Resenting, unrelenting, sameness
The umbilical cord of hollow applause
Crows at dawn
A revolving door
Of crossword puzzles
And cocaine bubbles
Friendly disgust
Piss, vinegar and dust
Tattoos and barn dancing
Lounge room jazz romancing
To empty seats
And tired eyes
Hand cooked classics
Served by fascists
Then the middle age lull
Before the slow acceptance
Of what’s to come
The travelling minstrel show
Decked out in checks
Play loud and slow
The same but worse than before
Through half closed lids you spy
A face you know and had
Where boredom meets disgrace my lad
Way past chucking out your thrown
Into the great but too well known
Enveloping blackened skies
Where the watchful moon averts its eyes
Much later on when calm, half dead
The light may find you in your bed
A breathing bruise, a living dread
Then you rouse yourself once more
To give the night another go.
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2. |
HIT
02:01
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HIT
Hit the streets
Hit the pubs
The clubs
The bars
The Roof terraces
The Wineries
The Vineyards
Smoking rooms
The Make you own gin experiences
The Pop up cookery classes
Home wine tasting
Wild camping
zumba, zorbing, zuma
pilates, karate
Breakfast crack pipes
Midnight snack bites
Hit the gym
Hit the hay
Hit the deck
Hit the sack
Hit the beach
Hit those parts that others can’t reach
Hit the skids
Hit the kids
Hit the wife
Hit the roof
Hit it and quit
Hit the heights
Hit rock bottom
Hit em high
Hit em low
Hit the countryside bungalow
Hit the books
Hit the banks
Hit the brakes
Hit em for six
Hit a nerve
Hit back
Hit big
Hit out
Hit it off
Hit me up
Hit and miss
Hit and run
Hit the bottle
Hit the headlines
Hit the road
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3. |
To Bavaria
02:26
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To Bavaria
The day was as dull as dish water
We were hurtling into the darkness
The light would be reclaimed by the impending night
The withered trees lined the highways reaching upwards for fading inspiration.
They stood as reminders, victims clinging to memory
Visited only by the wandering crows
Theirs was a brutal unrelenting winter
The richness of the forest seemed secure by comparison
Emboldened by number
We carved through the landscape
Onward towards the yielding glow of sunset
Bound for the city
There were havens of light in pockets along the way
Small proud territories kissed by the retiring sun
Beacons of flickering hope along a long and miserable stretch
Endless highways and faceless truck stops
Sound tracked by the mechanised voice of the navigation system
We had dispensed with conversation altogether
Each to their own vessel
Propelled by his own selfish thoughts
Nursing his own wound
Snatching at sleep
Sinking further into the abyss
The tensions amongst us were visible scars with solid foundations
Years in the making, each had his own breaking point, his own shame, his own grievance.
Civility was a hard yet favourable road
There would be time for more
Howling at the moon later down the line
More lubricated home truths, incriminations
And collegial truces
Now was the time for quiet contemplation.
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4. |
Happy Days Neighbour
03:51
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HAPPY DAYS neighbour
As the dusk ushers in the end of another
Sun soaked day
In a long line of springtime records broken
Here in our respective hibernations
I take out the rubbish, sort the recycling, collect the washing from the line
A ghost, an apparition, barely alive, living off fumes
Over the fence
Taking cover under tarpaulin
Sat panting with his glass of Rioja in hand
Staring into the middle distance of a freshly swept, de-weeded yard
A casualty
Clinging onto the withering vine
That sense of weary abandon dimming
Fading with the natural light
My name: whispered, exhaled even
I meet his eyes
Amble over with the usual mixture of tired warmth and resignation
Obliged
The brief; keep it brief
But under the stars and through a stream of swarming insects, the passing trains
The green flies, oversized Bees
Neighbourhood cats and the sound of distant sirens,
a nighttime sweep through nowhere land
The pizza boys doing their rounds
The dealers dropping off
The pounding pavements of late night joggers
Rekindling old couples weaving their way homeward
But here, now, he wants to reach out
“Happy Days” he says on more than occasion
Happy days indeed
"Partying alone again like some kind of saddo”
His words
I congratulate him on the house sale
“230” he says
“That was quick” I reply
“yeh surprised how popular it was ..
5 viewings in 3 days
A lady doctor… she’s been straight with me
No times for games at my ripe old age”
“must be sad to see it go’ I ask… out of duty more than anything but..
Thinking of the bridge, where hours earlier I’d spied him
wistfully gazing brow beaten, smiling, half crying
Paralysed by decades of memories and regrets
Near misses, promises unkept
Dreams by the wayside
Thirsts unquenched
The view from his window;
A direct line through those huge trees with swaying branches
The dual carriageway below
Where microscopic life throbbed, swarmed
Dispersed, decayed and seemingly replayed this fate ad nauseam
“half my life..” He says
“nearly 30 years”
‘Happy Days”
We skirt around the current crisis, facts, fiction, party lines
Then the wild years, how he bought it for a snip, on a whim
What it needed, what he couldn’t give,
The ammo up in the attic, the things you amass
The things you throw away
Then properties
A future unwritten
But the pauses weigh heavy and begin to multiply
Soon we’re exposed, threadbare
Shivering under the surface of our conversation
I shift from one foot to the other
Fumble for an empty phrase
Then turn inward,
“night” I mumble
“happy days” he says
“happy days”
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5. |
Yet You Wait
02:55
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YET YOU WAIT..
Wind raging
Collective breath held
Dropped From the heavens
Down with a thud
Feet on dry land
Then speeding homeward
Back to captivity
Life under the heel of your own choices
The tyranny of domesticity
Every ounce accounted for
Every second someone else’s
Always on the clock
In the sick bay
At panic stations
The unwanted guest at your own party
At each other’s throats
Life through the window
The slow turning of the wheel
The tightening of the vice
When work is your only indulgence
Exercise your debauchery
Patience the virtue
Sacrifice the aim
And yet you wait
And yet you wait ..
You must relearn
The art of tongue biting
Pride swallowing
Point scoring
Passivity
Meekness
The rising damp of resentment
Door slamming
Finger jabbing
Blood boiling
Oh the parts we play
The lies we tell
Tied by the chord umbilical
Tethered, aligned, destined to follow the same star
Through burning deserts and howling gales
Thick fog and dark forests
You are both the hostage and the captor.
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6. |
On Hold/ Holding On
03:03
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7. |
White Noise
02:00
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WHITE NOISE
A blanket of white noise
An electric box fan
A small ambling river
A highland stream
Its drizzling softly somewhere in the north of England
The clothes are wet but drying
I can hear the rapid gunfire of tiny beating hearts
A vacuum cleans
The car rumbles on
Through the creaking pines
There are showers deep within the forest
Crickets out in the fields
Weave me a tapestry of sound
In which to dream
Enveloped yet free
The windy desert palms
Waves rushing against rocks
Tweeting birds and croaking frogs
The steady droplets on an umbrella
The yawning winter creek
The rusting leaky tap
Ice cracking
A suburban night in The Ukraine
Inside the carriage of a high speed German train
A rushing mountain stream
On the blustery outskirts of town
Along the desolated coast
Distant ships sound
From outside or from within
You hear the cry building
Fighting, struggling neath the skin
Ready to burst
And tear this firmament down to earth
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8. |
City By Bus
02:35
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The City by Bus
Skriking brats on sweaty buses
Brexit Blair behind the bushes
Trying to see what all the fuss is
On heat teens and birthday beats
Rozzers blocking off the street
Scag heads on the cadge
5 a siders talking vadge
Satchel’s got his ears in
High Viz erections
Helmets giving out directions
Window licking reflections
Steds with dreads, tats in cravats
Bearded dicks and flying rats
Wrinkly dog’s dinners
A bookies pen and no winners
Damp is setting in
Thumbnails in the buff
Runners up in Crufts
It reeks of old man’s chuff
Groping in the back row
Schizoids on the home grown
Ripping off the plaster
Tarquin’s communal pasta
Out here on a limb
Discounts with ethical finesse
Pop up’s at the Officer’s mess
Its just another Tesco Express
An open top parade
Through the slave trade
Escorts on the lamp posts
Cockle pickers on the coast
Survival looking slim
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9. |
A Home Undone
02:18
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A HOME UNDONE
Wax work politicians
Paper thin slogans
Glass eyed celebs
On wide comfy sofas
Auto cues Regurgitating breakfast
Chewed up has beens
Disappear Down Orifice Dale
Up the cul-de -sac
The City’s just for work and back
Chat to Pat about Tuesday’s bins
While the television’s listening in
Ergonomic kettles
A mixture of precious metals
Sweeping up dead leaves
Damp proofing…
Let the music play on
From the commercial radio
Spewed into bewildered middle aisles
Soft home furnishings
Falsifying need
Arguing the toss with energy providers
A chain of furiously robotic emails and automated responses
Seething missed calls from unknown numbers
The chemical water filtered glacier crisp
The condensation
The twitchers and the early mornings
Hand scrawled notes from delusional postmen
Smoothies that stick between the teeth
The neighbourhood lunatic screams at an SUV
That creaking gate
The baby stroller’s awkward mate
Up in the attic of detritus
Postcards from the future sent back to haunt (warn) us
Appliances and unread manuals
Styrofoam and moth bitten clothes
Menus from take ways long closed
Manifestos for the status quo
Regional crime stats
Snotty kids sitting SATs
Screen time and yoga mats
Deep fried vegans
Rechargeable humans
Holidays go unbooked
Dry rot goes overlooked
Re Plastering short cuts
Eye rolls, sighs, tuts
Lost between growth spurts and endless visitors
Monthly instalments and lazy solicitors
Where the silent war is lost and won
A home undone.
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10. |
The Creaking Colony
04:03
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THE CREAKING COLONY
The gulls are crying
The heat electrifying
Steaming upwards from the sewers
Through the traffic
Circling crows
Like static
Bikes toot horns
From every angle torn
Rip through the blazing sun
With fortified naval guns
You gaze out to sea
Drink in the shade of
The gypsy’s tree
In this quaint old
Creaking colony
Tonight the circus
Comes to town
The fasting broken
In moonlight’s crown
Now weary souls
In shadows stalk
An orchestra of birds squawk
Victorious ants return from battle
The baby reaches
For her rattle
Rats slide back below
You sit and watch
The grass grow
They’re dressing the stage
And testing the lights
You feel a thousand
Insect bites
Ignite the aching
Still unsettled scores
The weight that pulls
Us from down below
Tricks you into
Letting go
But binds us tightly
To the stone
A home made prison
Of your own undoing
The body prepared for viewing
When even here on foreign soil
The same old scabs and boils
We pick
Tied to our shared history
Creaking with the colony.
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11. |
Falling Apart in Public
04:35
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FALLING APART IN PUBLIC
Back From the bogs
Mad box of frogs
With the Christmas dos
And the yuletide blogs
I’m falling apart in public
Some two bit tit
And her thripny bit
Want to shoot the shit
About the pitfalls of going viral
The inevitable downward spiral
Silver bells! I’m falling apart in public
Way off kilter, smoking the filter
Down to its nub
Can you tell the difference between the sick and the grub?
Pulling up roots at the bar
With a bowl of bruised fruit
Dozing on the couch
With a yard full of grouch
I’m falling apart in public
Pull me a cracker Jack
Ever seen Mac in the knack?
Leaves the mouth a little dry and the jaw a little slack
“Man you can’t say that”
I’m falling apart in public
Little drummer boy won’t let me play with his toys
And the lamb and the oxen
Are just days that need boxing
Taking a swing at glad tidings
Lech and leer at a dress full of cheer
That giggles and swoons
Under the smear of a moon
I’m falling apart in public
Ding dong bell
Here comes Mr show and tell
With a pithy joke and a cheap noel
All Cuban heels and wish me wells
Joining the round with the hand me downs
I’m falling apart in public
Dry that twiglet’s tears
Allay those finger bowl fears
More dreams on the back of an envelope
Wood worm and belly rot
Bombing schemes and terror plots
I’m falling apart in public
It’s a revolving door for the puerile
A refectory for the senile
The toilet bowl of resolutions
Creaking age old institutions
This barrel of fish need shooting
I’m falling apart in public
How many lords were leaping?
Sycophants creeping?
Friends left weeping?
Its grey skies and mourning suits
Gold rings and dying roots
I’m falling apart in public
It’s the star of fucking David
All coked up and wayward
Full of vinegar and piss
A pantomime hiss, and a misseltoe kiss
But the kiddies don’t scare about the step on the stair
The crash of sleigh bells that the neighbours know well
But I’m falling apart in public
Pa rup a pum pum
Get your fill and leave em the crumbs
The tongue tingles and the gums are numb
A Christmas fist full of two front teeth
Its aint the paper its what’s beneath
But I’m falling apart in public
That goose got fat off of penniless twats like me and you
Glam Peado flares, racists charging triple fares
Holly and Ivy, drunk and conniving
The mince pies, the maggots
The bar sings “cheap lousy faggot”
O tannebaum!
I’m falling apart in public
A grope with the girl from HR
One last whisky before I’m barred
Hail down a sleigh and follow that car
Fill it up to the brim
No room at the Inn
Down here I’m Tiny Tim
A Shrivelled up Scrooge
With just the present to lose
I’m falling apart in public
The black mass midnight choir
Sing songs from the witching hour
It’s away with the stranger
All clear, present, danger
Somewhere between the stars and the gutter
With a tongue that cuts butter
Its mud sticking, boot licking
Shit kicking, house bricking
It’s begging and pleading
Moaning and bleating
It’s all the best and season’s beatings
All the best and season’s beatings
I’m falling apart in public.
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Dan Wilson Liverpool, UK
Dan Wilson is a singer songwriter. Vocalist and guitarist with Dan Wilson & The Counterfactuals and The Cubical.He is also a vocalist with Basque collective Los Separatistas, and a writer of poetry and short stories.
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