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You are here: Home / Writing / Lyrics / In Reflection

In Reflection

I Know I Won’t

Oh look at the climate, burning like books
Tell me the toy time, I’ll bless all the nooks
In every corner, onlookers sit
Digging their dirt and packing their kit
And they’re sick and ill and they’re bad and old
Over and over, stories I’ve told
Coins in my pocket, an elephant’s tusk
I am the port and you are the port

I know I won’t stay
I know I won’t ‘though you think I will
I know I won’t stay
I know I won’t though you think I will

Cover me up, bury my head
Shush to the sky, there’s pain in that red
The button loose, the shirt undone
Who ever will settle for sun?
I never ever live like this
You just caught me, needing a kiss
Reflections of her in splashing brooks
I came here tomorrow for love’s last looks

I know I won’t stay
I know I won’t though you think I will
I know I won’t stay
I know I won’t though you think I will

And I always knew that I’d never stay
And I always knew that I’d never stay

I know I won’t
I know I won’t

 

Art On The Run

The cane on the table is getting lighter, it’s almost disappeared
I always thought that furniture was weird
Rooms full of battered wood, I’d live in empty rooms if I could
The shape of my face is well-defined, improving with age
All I need now is something to engage
Grinning at images, I’ll only talk to you if you appeal

Braving the elements
Childlike and delicate
Art is on the run
Art is on the run

Braving the elements
Childlike and delicate
Art is on the run
Art is on the run

The blood on the ticket is the same as the blood on the fingers at my throat
I’ll prove it was you by the paintings on your coat
Seams split in violent times, art is on the run and drunk again on wine
I’m safe and sound, I’m full of money, a silver sixpence shines
Somewhere else a beach is sad and cries
Sand swept to damaged hills, another empty canvas I’ve to fill

Braving the elements
Childlike and delicate
Art is on the run
Art is on the run

Braving the elements
Childlike and delicate
Art is on the run
Art is on the run

Close to you and far away

Braving the elements
Childlike and delicate
Art is on the run
Art is on the run

 

Night Is Over

Just because you’re sitting here and you’re next to me
Doesn’t mean that I owe you my hospitality
If I feel special things, when you’re not there
Can you blame me if I always feel this despair?

Close your eyes, close your eyes, close your eyes
The night is over, the day has just arrived
(The night is over, the day has just arrived)
The night is over, the day has just arrived
(The night is over, the day has just arrived)

Just because the day is here doesn’t mean it’s light
And just because the light is off doesn’t mean it’s night
My skin is wet and yet I feel so dry inside
Action seems to take the place where sentences collide

I’ll tell you why, I’ll tell you why, I’ll tell you why
The night is over, the day has just arrived
(The night is over, the day has just arrived)
The night is over, the day has just arrived
(The night is over, the day has just arrived)

I’m only doing what I’m doing
So things will be better in the end

The night is over, the day has just arrived
(The night is over, the day has just arrived)
The night is over, the day has just arrived
(The night is over, the day has just arrived)
The night is over, the day has just arrived

 

Velvet Fuselage

Looking on a thousand garments worn by priests on summer days
Shallow pools of milky summer ripple past in different ways
Facts or trickles, untrue words spill gleaming dust on dimpled lands
Tables full of glossy fruits with fingerprints from dirty hands

How can minutes whisper
When clocks are always loud
The afternoon gets crisper
A Ginger Witch, a Velvet Fuselage
How can I be growing
When the sea has not returned
If the sky’s not snowing
A Ginger Witch, a Velvet Fuselage

Cooler than the secret planet fences separate the hills
On she goes and bends the trenches, kills the colonel with her spells
Glassy nights have turned to thrillers, frightening the broken black
Streamlined like the best of killers, elbow twisted in a sack

Must I sell our water
When creamy faith’s inspired
The coffee clowns are worried sick
A Ginger Witch, a Velvet Fuselage
Plan the reconstruction
Evacuate your face
Estimate the damage caused
A Ginger Witch, a Velvet Fuselage

She tries, she tries, she tries, she tries

Looking on a thousand garments worn by priests on summer days
Shallow pools of milky summer ripple past in different ways
Cooler than the secret planet, fences separate the hills
On she goes and bends the trenches, bends the colonel with her spells

How can minutes whisper
When clocks are always loud
The afternoon gets crisper
A Ginger Witch, a Velvet Fuselage
How can I be growing
When the sea has not returned
If the sky’s not snowing
A Ginger Witch, a Velvet Fuselage

Must I sell our water
When creamy faith’s inspired
The coffee clowns are worried sick
A Ginger Witch, a Velvet Fuselage
Plan the reconstruction
Evacuate your face
Estimate the damage caused
A Ginger Witch, a Velvet Fuselage

How can minutes whisper
When clocks are always loud
The afternoon gets crisper
A Ginger Witch, a Velvet Fuselage
How can I be growing
When the sea has…

 

Sleepy Metal Box

Sleepy metal box how many secrets do you hold
Inside your head how many stories have you told
A secret life, a seaworld swim
And you at the bottom where most things begin

Sleepy metal box
Sleepy metal box

Biscuit crumb graveyard how much sweetness
Inside your head you scheme with the neatness
A forty mile leap to the bedroom floor
And black sugar in a cake-stand war

Speckled moon with a slight dip
The sky is a pencil and you’re the tip
Draw me an ocean where I can swim
Or a sleepy metal box where I can begin

Lacey lacey can the curtains cope
Throw me a ladder or swing me a rope
I’m a romantic gypsy king
Stealing the box where all things begin

Sleepy metal box
Sleepy metal box

I purchase wicker baskets empty
Fill them up so there is plenty
Down at the bottom when everything’s gone
Your grateful circle has again begun

Joining the sun with a curving line
Sink behind the cloak of time
Throw me the moon and I’ll check it’s locked
Sleepy sleepy metal box

Sleepy, sleepy, sleepy
Sleepy metal box, yeah

Joining the sun with a curving line
Sink behind the cloak of time
Throw me the moon and I’ll check it’s locked
Sleepy sleepy metal box

 

How Come They Don’t Touch The Ground

Even yesterday has gone away
Has tomorrow ever come
Will next week last forever
How come it’s funny but it’s not fun

Have the fingers slipped, has time been cut
Has the face misled the eye
Break the glass let me out of here
Why doesn’t six come after five

Turning, turning round and round
My feet are burning
How come they don’t touch the ground

I play a game on the paving stones
The cracks seem so small to me
I suddenly shrink and meet some insect friends
And need binoculars to see across what now is wide to me

They close the doors on another train
The windows dirty as the floor
You can play games with your reflections
But I don’t do that anymore

Turning, turning round and round
My feet are burning
How come they don’t touch the ground
How come they don’t touch the ground

I got up to leave
But something I couldn’t see stopped me, stopped me

Turning, turning round and round
My feet are burning
How come they don’t touch the ground

 

Winter Splinter Bay

Golden inch a pinch of dust
The desert sinks like deserts must
A shelf of moon a bag of skies
In serpent dips the seconds fly
Peril hounds your upset day
And paints the darkness back to grey
Dip my fingers in the stars
Princes greet the Eastern Shahs
Hold onto a windy past
Your hips regret the tour can’t last

Palace gardens melt to milk
And servants swim in seas of silk
Help is jewels on ivory staffs
And watch them roll down secret paths
Lace can talk in worlds like this
Windows think that branches kiss
Sorrow grows if sails are low
But gusts of wind make sorrow go
Leaning towers cup their sway
Fall to foundations locked away

I’ll fall asleep inside her hair
I’ll fall asleep inside her hair

Organ grinders pause to live
Piano notes exist to give
Black and orange fruits begin
A race they all intend to win
The bottom rung is still the top
The ladder though is just a prop
Pour me sea into my hand
The salt will stay and there’s the land
Paper filled by swirling thoughts
Where ships are sleeping in Porridge Ports

Be here, turn your mouth to me
Let me sing till I agree
A pond reflects, a knight denies
A shudder in the Earth replies
A costly stare results in blood
Your fragile gun swims in the mud
A coat of silver draped in dreams
A million maps run through the seams
Taste is blue when light is bad
But silently you’re not that sad

I’ll fall asleep inside her hair
I’ll fall asleep inside her hair

Curtains drawn on real views
The mountain sits and valleys lose (Winter Splinter Bay)
Underneath a bankrupt stone
A yellow lizard remembers home
On this shrill and gristle day
The button holes close up and fray (Winter Splinter Bay)
The hope is glowing on a stick
But who’ll believe the snow is thick
Only those who push their way
From here to Winter Splinter Bay

I’ll fall asleep inside her hair
I’ll fall asleep inside her hair

I’ll fall asleep inside her hair
I’ll fall asleep inside her hair

I’ll fall asleep inside her hair
I’ll fall asleep inside her hair

Winter Splinter Bay
Winter Splinter Bay

 

The Lantern

In the same destructive way
Your broken bridge lies in the hay
You cannot spell you only lean
Where magic words direct the stream

Underneath this buckled quilt
Flowers old and precious wilt
They take you to a bluster place
And dance around your face

Safer calendars I have seen
But whoever knew what months must mean
I sail the skies and fly through the sea
No miner, cook or fool can die so weakly
Can die so weakly
Can die so weakly

Hasty dashed in quicker clothes
What if the fishes eat the loaves
Backward buildings drop to dust
Gutters turn to rust

I stamp my feet and scare the ghost
Welcome that dimension’s host
He flickers and snickers into his robe
And skips around the globe

During weeks when I was grey
I posted night to greet the day
I shunned the light for beams of black
No sailor, ship or sea can sink on land
Can sink on land
Can sink on land

The lantern swings until your arm hurts
And all you did was signal your demise

Safer calendars I have seen
But whoever knew what months must mean
I sail the skies and fly through the sea
No miner, cook or fool can die so weakly
Can die so weakly
Can die so weakly

Ooh (can die so weakly)
Ooh (can die so weakly)
Ooh (can die so weakly)
Ooh (can die so weakly)

Ahh (can die so weakly)
Ahh (can die so weakly)
Ahh (can die so weakly)
Ahh (can die so weakly)

Ooh (can die so weakly)
Ooh (can die so weakly)

 

Volumes

Borrowed grapes from stores of gold
Put plastic back where metal’s sold
Men in quarries connect their bomb
One two three, a new Saigon

Check the bottle, is it full?
Have you found which pin to pull?
Boys in shirts get dirty hands
Smoke kills seagulls on the sands

They have pages
They take ages
To read and to learn
They’re heavy to carry
And easy to burn
Volumes have secrets
Take them on holiday
Book them a room
Save them a moment
Swallow their swoon

Pretty things all in a row
Flowers who can’t seem to grow
Finding the pearls, then finding the blood
And finding the water is wood

The something I wanted has just flown by
It looked at me sideways and told me to try
I hope it’s a message from someone obscure
I hope it’s the man next door

They have pages
They take ages
To read and to learn
They’re heavy to carry
And easy to burn
Volumes have secrets
Take them on holiday
Book them a room
Save them a moment
Swallow their swoon

They have pages
They take ages
To read and to learn
They’re heavy to carry
And easy to burn
Volumes have secrets
Take them on holiday
Book them a room
Save them a moment
Swallow their swoon

They have pages, they take ages
To read and to learn
They’re heavy to carry
And easy to burn

 

Soft Murder

Softly softly I take you away
Over a hill to a place far away
As soon as you knew you were going away
You packed up a subtle green bag
And skipped into a dream

Softly softly I arrive with you
I have no idea what to do with you
Surrounded by people who stare at you
You unpacked your subtle green bag
And fell into the pockets of the porters

Softly softly you’ve spoken to me
Softly softly you’ve found a way
Softly softly you’ve turned my bed
Into a battleground of lust
Ah must you softly softly

Softly softly I comb my hair
I turn around and you comb your hair
Every question sitting there
You reached into your subtle green bag
And brushed away the day

Softly softly you’ve spoken to me
Softly softly you’ve found a way
Softly softly you’ve turned my bed
Into a battleground of lust
Ah must you softly softly

So softly
Softly
So softly
Yeah

Softly softly I take you away
Over a hill to a place far away
As soon as you knew you were going away

 

The Width And The Height

Squeezed in decided ground
Squarely the distance goes round and round
Overly shown in a drowned patchy place
The lock on the dreamy door is a waste
Open and down the sheltered steps
You’ll find new places where thoughts are kept

Make sure you’re small, make sure you’re thin
Where the width and the height begin
Fake is a state, tears on a cake
Where the width and the height take shape

Escaped in a train to somewhere green
Where window cleaners clean and cream
Taste this unusual crop that I’ve picked
Find future in things to say
Grow some taste and go away
Love’s in your pocket so don’t kiss the air

Make sure you’re small, make sure you’re thin
Where the width and the height begin
Fake is a state, tears on a cake
Where the width and the height take shape

Make sure you’re small, make sure you’re thin
Where the width and the height begin
Fake is a state, tears on a cake
Where the width and the height take shape

The make-up room it isn’t real
Belts drape chairs, wet clothes reveal
Out from this book there’s a picture you can peel
But felty walls won’t mean the pool is smooth

Squeezed in decided ground
Squarely the distance goes round and round
Overly shown in a drowned patchy place
The lock on the dreamy door is a waste
Open and down the sheltered steps
You’ll find new places where thoughts are kept

Make sure you’re small, make sure you’re thin
Where the width and the height begin
Fake is a state, tears on a cake
Where the width and the height take shape

Make sure you’re small, make sure you’re thin
Where the width and the height begin
Fake…

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You usually don’t spend the day in the studio an You usually don’t spend the day in the studio and the night at a gig but if you put the studio next to the gig then there’s a greater chance. So @salimnourallah did just that, he put the gig and the studio next to each other and made it possible for me to spend the day recording and the evening playing live 🎵

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TO WHERE I AM NOW A visit in the studio today fro TO WHERE I AM NOW

A visit in the studio today from old mate Mark Burgess from The Chameleons who has been hanging in Texas recently. I was thinking about the two of us growing up in the northwest of England and all these years later finding ourselves in such an unlikely spot together. We fixed a few issues in the universe and I carried on recording some guitars until Mark had to leave. Mark had played at the Galactic Headquarters next to the studio this year as Olivia and I had four years ago and this reminded me to remind myself to remind everyone to remind their friends that we will be playing there with Salim on Saturday, New Year’s Eve, for the ultimate in intimate performance. You can get tickets here (follow link below).

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TO WHERE I AM NOW Sadness manifested in a buildin TO WHERE I AM NOW

Sadness manifested in a building, today we went to visit Paisley Park. Prince built Paisley Park in Chanhassen, about twenty minutes southwest of Minneapolis. It opened in 1987 and he recorded his later albums there. Apart from Prince, REM also recorded and mixed Out Of Time there, recording Kate Pearson’s vocal on Shiny Happy People vocal. Madonna had Prince play guitar on three songs from Like A Prayer and the two co-wrote Love Song, finishing it remotely due to Madonna not being able to stand the cold weather and the rather desolate location of the studio. Of course, there are things around but it’s not in the city and it’s not in the countryside, it’s in a suburb, no distractions, just what Prince wanted.

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Missing

This is my stolen 1965 Rickenbacker 12-string, serial number EB157. If there’s any chance of this guitar coming back to me before I go to meet my maker, then that would be wonderful. Please contact me if you have any information.

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