Monday, 12 March 2012

Drowning men catch at straws

I may seem cold and pretend I'm not there, but when your head is turned I sit and stare;
at your smile that could melt me away, so many words but not sure how to say,
that I need you here and without your love I would jump and drown.
I'm not sure I can swim but my heart is too heavy and the worries are with me, there are far too many.
So stick by my side like my gold plated cane and talk me to sleep or I might go insane;
sick of the world, sick of the darkness, tired of the staring, cursed by the ghouls; old and luckless.

I may seem cold and pretend to be distant, but I promise one thing, without your kiss I'm gone in an instant.

I can't move my toes and my strides aren't as tight and I struggle to juggle or climb on my bike.
My head got messed up like that lorry's back wheel;
It's full of bad dreams, concrete and steel.
I can't catch that bus and I can't catch a break,
I can't see a future, like that trucker saw me late.
They dragged me to the court like I was dragged down the road,
I'm edgy and neurotic, I'm on defence mode.
But I can't see it getting better, I can't see the light, but I'm ready for the marathon and always up for the fight.

I'm gonna turn back the clock to relive my youth, to forget about the accident and to forget the truth.

Thursday, 8 March 2012

Pill Popping Prossie

You're as game as a badger with loose morals and looser stockings,

But that smile on your face got the good time boys flocking.

He was alone with too much time on his hands,

Whilst you were surrounded by your infatuated fans.

But you had washed your hands of the good old days,

When you drank till you were drunk, but never had to pay.

You were an easy lay with money on the hip,

Popping pills, looking for your next trip.

So slip on your panties and cover your cheeks,

Tie up your bows and go catch some sleep.

You're a whore to money and a pimp to his soul,

Picking up dollars whilst he's on the dole.

You can use your charms and get what you want,

Get what you need but without having to flaunt.

Those loose morals and those looser stockings.

So go to him, cos they've all stopped flocking.

Whitechapel Wino

Caught up in the shadows,

Feral and all alone.

Despised by the London masses;

They stop, they stare, they moan.

Like a pigeon with a limp,

Like a stray with a bone.

Overlooked by many;

Refused a shilling loan.

Struggling to make ends meet,

To stay upon his feet.

Wrapped up in a blanket, keeping in the heat.

A Whitechapel wino, not a friend to his name;

Gin and scraps he lives on, to support his tiny frame.

And as the smog engulfs his backyard,

And as the Bow Runners chase him on.

I don't know where he comes from, I don't know his name.

Sitting by the fruit stalls,

As the gentry swan on by;

No emotion on his face,

He neither smiles, laughs or cries.

Living by the opium pipe;

Can only numb the pain.

It may hide the heartbreak,

But won't keep out the rain.

Staring through the Inn window;

Sprawled upon the frosty street.

An hour feels like a day;

A day feels like a week.

A Whitechapel wino, no belongings to his name;

Gin and scraps he lives on; his tiny body lame.

And as the smog makes him breathless,

And as the Bow Runners chase him on.

I don't know where he comes from, I don't even know his name.