birds

 Fly away in the morning

Across the mountain

Through the air

Little bird

With the broken leg

And the cold black, coal black stare

Fly from the tolling virtue

Of the church bell as it chimes

Fly away from soul in curfew

In the mission of the times

I am here in disgusted tremors

and torpid curses that you've flung

For like a land where tornedos shudder

The very foundations under the sun

I am asking for my leisure

I am asking for to be released

From hard labour of your work camp

You call joy and pleasure

But I what need is sleep and peace

The colours blind me

All the greys and faded blues

All the worn out washed out wallpapers

All the garish flowery curtains' hues

Nothing certain only aging

Only death written on every door

All this town is is a work camp

For the poor man to get poor

I am sick to my back teeth

Of my life's decisions that have

Led me here

Some disasters that I ran from

No heroics I was scared

Never been a man of action

Only been ashamed and poor

All I had, all I was born with

I have thrown away at temptation's door

All the agents of panic have caught me

All the ghosts have taught me the law

I should believe in something holy

But knowing only it is death's door

That I knock on when I'm lonely

And say I give up now, and yet want more

Tell me why? Is it my mother, is it her love

Of life that's sure

Or tell me, is it my father, is it destructive

Tendencies that endure

Through the heart break and the clamour

Of the days where glamour shines no more

And I am felled by all the lovers

Who ever loved me, who I ever professed

Or confessed my amore

And I am left with shattered armour, broken shield

Broken hearted by these loves

That never started, by these loves that grew then died

By these loves like vines in gutters

Growing up into cold skies

And still I shall stand up and be counted

bare and naked with no home nor lies

And I shall thank the heavens 

For those loves that opened my eyes

The In between

 In the circle

In the circle of my life I'm in the middle

Can't decide which way to go

I play the fiddle

There are more fish in the sea

Than out

It's getting hard to see

I'm getting stout

Without a doubt

The fog is rising within me

Like a water spout

The mist is all glistening

tip toeing about

An Saint Paul has written his epistles about it

The way the fat controller

Waves his flag

It's just these pan pipes keep blowing

In the leaves

And the music of the winter's loom

Gives some ease

To the houses with the rooms

Where summer hangs on the eaves

And Spring is an attitude

Of the cobwebs the spiders weave

And Autumn has forgotten its manners

And I've left my spanners

In works I can't retrieve

To have and to hold

 I wish I had her to hold again

All through the night's bitter cold again

This can't be how our story ends

I wish I had her to hold

I wish I had her to hold

More of this and it'll make me so old

I wish I had her to hold

And let our story unfold

There are many ways I've been told

But there's only one way I want to hold

My darling in my arms

Keeping her far from harm

I wish I had her to hold

It's a wrap

 The thing about presents is

The only worthwhile thing in them

Is their wrapping, because that's

The only part the giver has actually taken the trouble 

to do themselves

That's why dogs, cats and toddlers play mainly with

The wrapping, it is the best bit

A book, someone else wrote it,

a toy, somebody else thinks that's fun

paper though, wrapping paper

That was touched by the hands of someone who cares

Or feels obliged to give you something

Even if they don't really care and are giving you

The present out of duty, then they at least

wrapped it, put it in a box, maybe wrote a card

That's why it's fun to tear those things up

Because it just shows what a fun waste of time it all is

giving or receiving is really bollocks, but we do it

because it's something to do

And if we didn't it would be boring, and it would probably just be raining

and grey

But you see building things up and destroying them

Is really all life is about

And it is most fun to destroy things someone else has made

or valued

And it is even fun to see them being destroyed 

To an extent

Of course it's easier to understand when it's a cat, a dog or a toddler doing it

But deep down, that's all we really want to do anyway

They just have an excuse, infancy or they're animals

So it's pretty much the same.

Second chances

 Immigration, immigration

Getting like it's hard to mention

You ask somebody where they're from

It's like they've been hit with stun gun

I'm not trying to exclude you from my world view

I'm not trying to categorize you

But I like to know just who I'm speaking to

So don't get offended if I ask you to answer true

What's the problem? What are you hiding from?

Is it the dreaded word immigration?

I can say where I was born, that means I know where

I'm from

Though it sounds absurd

It matters if you're an Afghan, Somalian or Kurd

Sunni, Czech, Lithuanian, Polish or Bulgarian 

But only because it's culture is different

Isn't it worse to pretend we're all the same

And lie about where we're born

So we can get given the password

To enter a city, a country of gold,

But you know it's only this way

Because we haven't entirely sold

Our souls

Of course the massive corporations have though

They've been buying up

Our rights to life

They control our old age accommodation

Market forces

Forced Grandma into a home

Capitalism made your parents divorce

Getting rich, and being well

Became the only Christmas to sell

And such things as faith and honesty

Got thrown out with the dishwater

Into the frozen sea of commerciality

Some place, perhaps there's a place

Where being a family means

Being loved, its rules

Are above the government's laws

Regardless of citizenship

Which is just a passport key

It's just a way of saving a life

From poverty into prosperity

Prosperity, but no family

Just a waltz with the dollar

Just a Sterling march

A glide around the ballroom

of Second chances

Taking a spin

On the wheel of life and love

But you must forget

First what you used to have

Get into Christmas

 Get off my lanterns

And start running the show

Christmas is coming

So don't be slow

Get off my lanterns and get into

winter glow

My head was doing a performance on the chopping block

I walked around the corner and found quite a shock

That the French revolution was an exhibition on shutterstock

And the photographers were the only ones keeping their heads

The rest of them were hopeless lifers and may as well been dead

but no don't talk like that

Get off my lantern

the bare trees are blowing in the wind

Falling

 My eyes fell, fell a sleep

My eyes are falling, falling into the deep

I fell out of bed

I fell down the stairs

I fell off the log pile of all my burning cares

I fell, I fell for you

Falling, falling waterfall dew

My eyes are falling

Falling water too

My eyes aren't falling

It's just the morning dew

When I rise the sun in my eyes does too

But now I must be falling

Falling in love with you