The silence of snails

The silence of snails
As they drown in the rain
Can you hear them talking

I went out one morning
Some had escaped
Got caught by the weather

All of their secrets
All of their days
All of their longing
All of their ways

I went out in the morning
And many had drowned
They died in the rain
With hardly a sound

A death like ours

A death like ours
Like crumbling towers

That nature un-tunes us
To let death wound us

The only time we crack
Is when we dress in black

Time stands still then turns to stone
We each must mourn alone

A death like ours
Upon the wooden stake

There are no lies about it
Death is not a fake

Jesus died just like us
To do what’s right and just for us

The glue that holds together

The glue that holds together
Out heart, our soul, our mind
Why does it lose adhesion?
Why does it fade unkind?

No, it is not the spirit
It’s what it cannot find
The interface of body
God’s Love complete to bind

For when we die, we cry
Why are we forsaken?

Cry first and then write

Cry first and then write
I cannot think, my chest is tight

Love is crippled by the past
Like a sparrow in a trap

The air is thin, the lungs are dead
The blood swells inside my head

Love is terrified by crones
Witches spells and vulture bones

Into the cave, death leads the way
Night laughs at weeping day

Love stands before the cave-in
Like the ghost of a screaming raven

The train is riding down the river
The suspension bridge is black and withered

The sky is filled by angels fighting
And from their mouths fall drips of lightning

His soul is still in Paris

On the day
He was expected to die
His son
Went to Paris

The father and the son
Didn’t seem close at all but still
When what little love you had
Dies – it hurts a bagful

The son had made it happen
The trip to Paris
With a group of art students
Eager to write their names
On the hallowed ground of Montmartre

The son had hoped for life
But found out about the death
Of his father
And his grief was wrong

It was wrong for the streets of Paris
It was wrong for the bright sunny air
It was wrong for the gaiety planned for
It was wrong
Being there

No one could console him
He wouldn’t be consoled
His soul is still in Paris
And always was

Little Ghost Dog

Little ghost dog
Appearing out of nowhere
In the dark
Living room
Out of the side door
In the grey haze of light
From the back room window

The little ghost dog
Would I
Even remember you now
But for your ghost?
There was a half-told story
That the little white dog
Was mistreated and died

I was in the miner’s house
In Cannock
The father was dying
In the front room
That was hardly big enough
For his bed

Everywhere in that house
Tragedy collected
Hungry for suffering

The front door
Was hardly ever used
By the family
Went in and out
Of the back door
If you did
By chance
Happen to knock
On the front door
You would
Be strangely aware
You were knocking
On a dying man’s door

The family dog
A little white poodle
Was meant to be loved
Was meant for love
But instead
Like the master of the house
It died or it was killed
To become
The little ghost dog
That I saw that day
As I sat waiting alone
In the terrible gloom

The soap opera

The soap opera

You sit and watch the small screen every day
There is no memory of you or me there
Not in Coronation Street, not in East Enders.

And you religiously watch them day by day but beware
There is no memory of your life in them
And when you die they will carry on, cruelly not remembering you

I watched you hopping over the grass

I watched you happing over the grass
Flapping your ominous jet-black wings
There is bleak loneliness, do you wait for the night
A godlessness, do you dislike yourself
As if your first ancestor passed on sin to you
And for all of your generations, you had to represent death
Unloved bird, tragic creature, the fearful shadow of a dream.

Song: Australia House

Lyrics to Australia House:


I went down to Australia House
Fot to find a friend of mine
It’s so strange there is no doubt
She’s been gone a long, long time.

Verses 1 – 3

I never thought you’d leave me
I never thought you’d go
You vanished like a dream
You vanished like the snow

I took a trip down under
Flying through the sky
Noone seemed to know you
No matter how I tried

I’ve seen such bitter hatred
For reasons unexplained
I wish that you were with me
To help me through this pain

Australia House

A song about how a loved one can seem to dissappear from your life without any warning. About a dream where I went searching down-under.

Winter Hill

I wake up in the morning, bright and content
I go through my routines like a child soldier
No worries, no regrets, no leftover anger
Then I touch water, warm flowing water

My whole body tingles with a sensual sorrow
The encampment of the day opens, a light turned on
I feel the days gone by like a heavy anvil inside of me
Stalking me down into the forgotten past

As if I no longer existed and had no heart
When my childhood ended and my adulthood died
And my adventure in love was cut down like a tree
And buried in the fire of a family hatred

I got off the bus in Marlow
Where my mother grew up as a girl
I went to the information office to ask for directions
Someone gave me a map and a train timetable

Then, it was a twenty-minute walk to my aunts
Embarrassed by tears streaming down my face
Trying to hide my face away from strangers
As the irony of this first visit since childhood pierced me

I couldn’t remember which cul-de-sac it was
Where as a boy I’d play the fool with my Aunt
I walked back and forth for another twenty minutes
Trying to understand the system of door numbers

Finally I knocked on a strangely familiar door
My aunt let me in feeling uneasy the same as me
My cousin finished his bath and then drove me through Marlow
Visiting Gypsy Lane where my mother lived a long time ago

We went past the church where my uncle is buried
And then up a winding wooded road to Winter Hill

I remember my Moms instructions at her funeral
For her ashes to be taken back home to Marlow
For her ashes to be scattered in Bluebell Wood
Ashes that I never saw, a death I never witnessed

So I looked down the steep slope of Winter Hill
As my cousin pointed out the spot
Where my father and brother scattered her ashes
Scattered her ashes on Winter Hill

Not in the security of woodland where in spring
Bluebells cover the ground with life
But from the Winter Hill where the wind will blow
And loosen her ashes from the steep slope

Loosen her heart from the town she grew up in and loved
With hardly a hope that her remains will still be there in a years time

And my auntie complained about the situation
And said she’ll never go again to Winter Hill
But I will and I’ll stare across the valley
And call the wind to return my mothers ashes
To return them back and leave them
To return them back to Bluebell Wood
Where as a girl she played a long time ago
So I can sit amongst the bluebells and grieve at last