Empty Jester

Empty Jester

I’m smiling on the lip of the abyss,
What can I possibly think about all this?
I don’t look down when I can look up,
But there’s nothing at the bottom or the top,

The grin on the bridge of a moth’s back,
The smiling eyes are empty and black,
The hollows twinkle, a well in space,
Skull white like the light on your face,

Here’s another empty jester,
A line of ash runs the length of my tongue,
Words ring as hollow as a single gold band,
There’s nothing to say now that you’ve gone,

I’m laughing while the joke is on me,
Tears flow freely in company,
Later the bedroom seems to be so empty,
Your pillow lying lengthwise next to me,

Like Hamlet’s famous dummy,
Empty headed with a trap-door jaw,
Alas, in Wonderland, I knew her well,
Can’t say I know her any more,


Here’s another empty jester,
A line of ash runs the length of my tongue,
Words ring as hollow as single gold band,
There’s nothing to say now that you’ve gone

So Haunt Me

So Haunt Me

I’ve always lived with ghosts,
In every book I’ve ever read,
Leafing clammily through M.R. James’,
Curdling stories of creeping dread,

In every film I’ve ever sat through,
Strange apparitions are bound to appear,
“A Christmas Carol” is my favourite Dickens,
“Hamlet” is always the best Shakespeare,

So haunt me, please haunt me,
Melt into the room in a bed-sheet please,
Haunt me, just haunt me,
I want my hairs to prickle and my blood to freeze,
Haunt me, please haunt me,
I haven’t had enough of you yet, you see,

You haunt me every day, anyway,
I hear your voice, see your smiling face,
Your dressing gown on the back of the bath-room door,
It’s you, not your stuff, I want about the place,

Your clothes are still in the cupboards,
I can still just feel your touch,
Come back and put the wind up me,
I just miss you so very much,

So haunt me, please haunt me,
Melt into the room in a bed-sheet please,
Haunt me, just haunt me,
I want my hairs to prickle and my blood to freeze,
Haunt me, please haunt me,
I haven’t had enough of you yet, you see,

The Heart of Melancholy

The Heart of Melancholy

Here in,
The heart of melancholy,
I can’t see out,
To the mother you’ll never be,
The mountains of Mourn,
Rendered so sketchily,
Scrublands are scumbled,
And scratched out finally,

I’ll see you in the long grass,
With your black hair,
And your dark eyes,
I’ll see you in the long grass,
With your pale skin,
And your dark eyes,

Hearing;
The art of melancholy,
Words fall out,
Of mouths that so readily,
Talk of smiling and angels,
Land so heavy, messily,
Worm-casts on sand,
Emptied out faecally,

I’ll see you in the long grass,
With your black hair,
And your dark eyes,
I’ll see you in the long grass,
With your pale skin,
And your dark eyes,

Witless,
The arsehole of brevity,
Takes my hand,
But never once looks at me,
“Comes to us all”,
I goggle incredibly,
The fuckers a hundred,
Why can’t it be he?

I’ll see you in the long grass,
With your black hair,
And your dark eyes,
I’ll see you in the long grass,
With your pale skin,
And your dark eyes,

Black Sails

Found her and I married her,
Just in time to,
Watch her fall away,
And I’m cradling the pain,

He waits,
Waits for her return,
Candles gutter as they burn,
He waits,
The old man of the sea,
Black sails ahead of me,

Kicking through the sea-spume,
Doomed and waiting,
For that one black sail,
A hard point against the grey,
Squatting underneath the sun,
A pin-prick sticks,
The needle in the vein,
To carry her away,

He waits,
Waits for her return,
Candles gutter as they burn,
He waits,
The old man of the sea,
Black sails ahead of me,

Skies are bruising,
Dark sails ripple,
Moving now,
Moving nearer,

Darkness spreading,
Over waters,
Bleeding black,
Bleeding darkness,

Stephane Prix-D'Escalier

As I was walking down the stair,
I met a man, who wasn’t there,
I said you must be that esprit d’escalier everyone is always going on about…

You can't argue with a chicken bone

Here's a song written for whatever the post-Red Atlas Red atlas are called. (it's Si and Ian and possibly Martin). Si's turned out to be a pretty good singer and impressed at the "Oi Garcon" gig to celebrate/commiserate Ailsa's leaving London. His version of Silver Jews' "Random Rules" was assured and charming and made me want to write songs for him*. So here's a sweet country number about the divination of the future by chicken bones(a type of cleromancy). I think it will be just right his droll delivery.


*Though obviously his baby-momma and wife Jess is the real power behind the throne natch...


You can’t argue with a chicken bone


Yesterday day I was sat at home,
Divining the future with chicken bones,
I’m a fool but I’m no dreamer,
I saw your face in those chicken femurs,

I wanted to wait to tell you,
But my “wait” problem is well known,
You can mock when I talk about destiny,
But you can’t argue with a chicken bone,
And when I tried to reach you,
I had no credit for the phone,
Crossed lines, crossed wires, crossed destinies,
But you can’t argue with a chicken bone,

They called you “the party bucket”,
I think I died a little inside,
Didn’t help that your ass was tattooed,
With a sign saying “park and ride”,
I’m a million miles away,
Can’t get any reception here,
All I got is a lucky chicken’s foot,
To remind me of you my dear,

I wanted to wait to tell you,
But my “wait” problem is well known,
You can mock when I talk about destiny,
But you can’t argue with a chicken bone,
And when I tried to reach you,
I had no credit for the phone,
Crossed lines, crossed wires, crossed destinies,
But you can’t argue with a chicken bone,

(middle four)

I chickened out that first night,
The stigmas with me still,
Found a chicken on my pillow,
A bitter morning-after pill,

I know you’ll think this a paltry confession,
I want to show you that I’ve learned my lesson
I’m a fool but I’m no dreamer,
I saw your face in those chicken femurs,

I wanted to wait to tell you,
But my “wait” problem is well known,
You can mock when I talk about destiny,
But you can’t argue with a chicken bone,
And when I tried to reach you,
I had no credit for the phone,
Crossed lines, crossed wires, crossed destinies,
But you can’t argue with a chicken bone,

Orphans

Here are some songs that I wrote for Martin's new band "Blonde Moments" (terrible name!) the girl band that he has been dreaming of for a long time. The brief was a bit confusing as I was advised to not be too clever and to write for a modern indie sound. I obviously failed as he has yet to comment upon them or use them for his band. I'm not sure it's his loss - they're not great. But then they're not great on purpose.

I like the last one best...but then it's the most like something I would write anyway.


Isabelline

Hey honey, do you know what love’s like?
A chill moon on a winter’s night,
Whiskey jitters by the crashing waves,
Will soon show you how the heart behaves,
Hey baby, do you know what love’s for?
Two fingers flicked against a war,
A paper hat against the deluge,
A fool’s fortress and a reckless refuge,

Isabelline,
She’s the ghost in the machine,
Isabelline,
She’s the ghost in the machine,

Hey sugar, how do you heal the pain?
Been picking at the scabs again,
I’ve got scars on both of my palms,
Don’t want to get you up in arms,
Hey angel, don’t look so sad,
You’ll only turn our loving bad,
You know I’ll never put a healthy one down,
Hand me that bag of kittens to drown,

Isabelline,
She’s the ghost in the machine,
Isabelline,
She’s the ghost in the machine,

However do you want me?
That’s the way that I can’t be,
I twist and turn like a hanging man,
Twist and turn away from me,



Cupidity

Oh arrow please, please be true,
Now you know what I want from you,
The penny dropped; it finally got through to me,
You have to save me from my lover’s cupidity,

I’m a cool kid; my draw-back’s my beau,
My friends said, yeah, well we told you so,
Not least in his long list of crimes,
Is he’s seen “Wall Street” fifty times!


So, so long it’s been a pleasure,
So many memories to treasure,
It’s only recently I’ve got your measure,
Bye-bye to your cupidity forever,

(Possible backing vocal of “sell, sell” there, after the “bye, bye” – poss. a bit de trop.)

Your curls and your chubby little cheeks,
You used to make my knees go weak,
You never reminded me then,
Of a contestant on “Dragon’s Den”

I shot an arrow in the air.
What it was worth, I do not care,
All I desire of these darts you see,
Is ripping holes in your cupidity,


So, so long it’s been a pleasure,
So many memories to treasure,
It’s only recently I’ve got your measure,
Bye-bye to your cupidity forever,




Entryism


Is there a hole in my heart?
Or a polo-mint in my breast pocket?
Whatever the pain is insane,
And only you can stop it,

If I were to say to you,
Will you always be mine and forever?
This isn’t love on the dole,
It’s love on the never-never,


Never gonna give you up,
Never gonna stop loving you,
Never gonna give you up,
To the Inland Revenue,
My heart is true and my aim too,
So you know it’s true,
I need to be with you,

Baby there’s a hole in my head,
And that’s what I need you like,
Love is a job of work,
So you’d better get on your bike,

You’re the one I’ll always turn to,
Cause you’re the one who’s always there,
The crutch beneath my armpit,
The banister by the stair,

Never gonna give you up,
Never gonna stop loving you,
Never gonna give you up,
To the Inland Revenue,
My heart is true and my aim too,
So you know it’s true,
I need to be with you,






(yeah, if anything that’s worse. Though the chorus has a certain Black Lace quality to it)








We Come To the End


It’s the drip, drip, drip,
As your fingers slip mine,
I want you to know,
That I’d never cut the line,
When the pain is too great,
I’ll think of you in better days,
The sudden splash of summer,
That your eyes betray,

Is that all? Just a trick of the light,
The flash of head-lamps in the night,

We look into the mirror and we try to pretend,
But we both know when that we come to the end,
I jumbled up the words; I’m about to press “send”,
But we both know when that we come to the end,

I sweep back the cover,
And I crack the spine,
I read the dedication,
And I know it’s not mine,
How could you leave me?
In a house full of stuff,
I remember a time,
It belonged to us.

That’s what a sincere love will bring,
A box-room full of boxes of things,


We look into the mirror and we try to pretend,
But we both when that we come to the end,
I jumbled up the words; I’m about to press “send”,
But we both know when that we come to the end,


It was a long good-bye,
And if I’m honest not unexpected,
Like rubbish left out at night,
I’m both cool and collected,
There’s nothing to deal with here,
A central negation; a heart-shaped vacuum,
A life without a spark,
Dead and buried, alone in a back-room,