Lyrics

Next Automated Wave

Hidden influence, and all your scattered energies. All manner of distractions, and your creative blocks. Your relationship struggles, old misplaced trusts. You would speak the truth, but it trips upon your tongue. This constant waiting game, this illusive improvement – the next automated wave, lends to your dead end expertise.

But can you kick out survival mode? When you’re told it’s a lifestyle choice, when you’re told it’s a buyers market? That the others can pay the price.

Imposter syndrome, and all your unrequited loves. Another casual connection, and you’re a vulnerable mess, through an act of creation, but again your timing was off. Your message has missed the mark, you’ve failed to close the deal again. But I see you got your life planned. Set out over the next 5 years, with a  pretty little fantasist, imitating the melody of your words.

The world goes round a strange corner. Return to the tribe, speak to your echo chamber. Which timeline will you choose?

 

Elspeth & Elijah

Elijah was led by significance’s call,
A migrant with no home or coin.
But Elspeth loved her man of no vocation,
She longed to build a home around his bones.
Maybe if I make something of myself,
Sail away to protect home shores.
Come back and tell you of the lands I’ve seen,
With gold lined pockets, I’ll be worthy of thee.

But to Elspeth this philosophy was maddening,
For she saw his worth as he stood in front of her there.
But Elijah was set on adventuring,
Another recruit for the crown, to never return,

For when hands are not busy, It’s too easy to blame.
And the fist and the finger, Search for direction,
As the furious crowd,
Pick up the old refrain
“For our hands are not busy,
And we’ve nothing to our names.”

Drunk on snake oil he boarded with his brothers,
Out in to the world, to civilise and steal.
For one mans hero is another man’s crook,
and Elspeth’s vision of him, was kinder than the truth.
Helped build an empire book ended by Elizabeth’s,
And got shipwrecked upon the Skeleton Coast,
And for Elspeth a war widows pension,
And an empty home…

For when hands are not busy,
It’s too easy to blame.
And the fist and the finger,
Search for direction.
As the furious crowd,
Pick up the old refrain
“For our hands are not busy,
And we’ve nothing to our names.”

And Elspeth has stood by the shoreside,
For all these centuries long passed.
Watched husband’s, brothers and fathers,
As they men waved farewell.
And she’s kept the hearth fires burning,
As these boys, breathed their last.
For she was the Unknown Soldiers’,
Female counterpart.

For when hands are not busy,
It’s too easy to blame.
And the fist and the finger,
Search for direction,
As the furious crowd,
Pick up the old refrain
“For our hands are not busy,
And we’ve nothing to our names.”

The Illustrious Pen Thief

Oh Henry was a bard of sorts,
writing paid for his room and board,
until the Laird threw him out.
He was defender of the written word,
but Henry found it absurd that others dared to waste this precious ink.
Why write when you can barely even think?

So he broke in to the libraries,
To amend all the histories,
Paid for by those who had thought they’d won.
But Henry’s quick calligraphy,
Reevaluated victories,
Giving voice to the voiceless long gone.
He amended prose, poetry and song.

Oh Henry, my darling Henry,
the Illustrious Pen Thief.
Oh Henry, my darling Henry,
prefers cuneiform and hieroglyph.
Oh Henry, my darling Henry,
says there’s a power in these words that we miss.

He held journalists,
in contempt for misuse of spelling and syntax,
of twisting the glorious written word.
So he broke apart their printing press,
and gathered up all their ink and pens,
and set the place alight with a curse!
His house is full of so many pens,
he’s making furniture out of them,
and on his hands and clothes a constant ink stain.

But soon the law caught word,
of these pen theft reports and Henry was called before the courts.
He said ‘My Lord you may speak in legalise,
But your conscience you cannot appease,
For if you write like you speak my Lord,
That sentence would be a waste of words!”

Oh Henry, my darling Henry,
The Illustrious Pen Thief.
Oh Henry, my darling Henry,
prefers cuneiform and hieroglyph.
Oh Henry, my darling Henry,
Says there’s a power in these words that we miss.