1. |
Over to You
05:09
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Take a look around you, son. This is my legacy.
A scorched and soulless wasteland. As far as you can see.
There’s great big holes beneath the ground. They’re gonna need some filling in.
The ocean’s getting deeper by the day. And the air is mighty thin.
I guess I made a mistake or two.
But I just did what I had to do.
I’ve messed the world up pretty bad.
But now…. It’s over to you.
We had to tear the forests down. We needed all the land.
To grow our precious commodities. And for our empires to expand.
We lost all of the animals. It was either them or us.
There wasn’t enough for us all to share. So we threw them under the bus.
I guess I made a mistake or two.
But I just did what I had to do.
I’ve screwed the world up pretty bad.
But now…. It’s over to you.
We poured our crap into the sea. And never thought to clean it.
Killed all the things that lived in there. You know we didn’t mean it.
We choked the skies with CO2. To keep our wheels a-turning.
The march of progress was all we knew. Till we watched the heavens burning.
I guess I made a mistake or two.
But I just did what I had to do.
I’ve screwed the world up pretty bad.
But now…. It’s over to you
I guess you could bring back the trees. Just plant some seeds and watch them grow.
‘Course the ground is pretty barren now. But you’ll figure it out, I know.
You can bring the elephants back to life. There’s probably nothing to it.
Spielberg showed it can be done. And I’m sure that you can do it.
I guess I made a mistake or two.
But I just did what I had to do.
I’ve messed the world up pretty bad.
But now…. It’s over to you
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2. |
No Stranger to the Night
04:12
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It’s 2 a.m. and once again and I’m driving home alone.
I’m ten miles north of the England border and a hundred miles from home
My car is packed from end to end with the instruments of my trade
Everything’s bought and paid for by the music I have made
I must have sung Sweet Caroline a thousand times or more.
I stepped up and played that Penny Arcade till my fingertips were sore.
You gotta show them the way to Amarillo in order to survive.
And if you don’t play some Elvis you won’t get out alive.
And I’ve been singing the same old songs.
I’ve been doing it far too long.
You’d think that I’d get weary sometimes and you’d be thinking right.
Sometimes it seems I never get to see the morning light.
The music man’s no stranger to the night.
Well work’s been getting hard to find since they closed the factories down.
The crowds keep getting thinner as a drive from town to town.
But folks need entertainment so I come to do my show.
And I play the songs they want to hear. The tunes that they all know.
I keep seeing the same old faces sitting in the same old chairs.
And I hear the same polite applause for the same old bill of fare
I sometimes think there must be better songs for me to sing.
But folk don’t like surprises so I do the same old thing.
Yes I keep singing the same old songs……………..
I used to have a family and a place to call my home
But music’s been my mistress and now I live alone.
And the kids are all grown up now; I see them when I can.
But I guess it isn’t easy when your Dad’s a music man.
So I hope I entertain you when you come to see my show.
And I’ll play my little heart out till it’s time for you to go.
And I wish you all save journey home and then go collect my fee.
But once the tax man’s had his share there ain’t much left for me.
So I’ll keep singing the same old songs……………..
It’s 3 a.m. and once again and I’m driving home alone.
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3. |
To Sandi
04:56
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I hardly know where to begin.
I don’t understand the state I’m in.
No use to kid myself. I’ll never rid myself of you.
Though we’ll be an ocean apart there’ll still be a part of me.
Missing you and wishing we were together again.
I can’t ask you to stay. This is not your home.
That’s not my place anyway. You have a life of your own.
Get on board your aeroplane. I’ll just smile and bear the pain inside.
And wherever you go I feel sure you’ll find what you’re looking for.
I only hope that maybe I can be so lucky too.
No point being sorry. I’ve only myself to blame.
But if the chance came again I would do just the same.
Time may change the scenery but I’ve still got my memories of you.
So let’s take what’s left of our time and spend it on fun and wine.
Fill out hearts with laughter and kiss one another goodbye.
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4. |
Star to Star
04:08
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It wasn’t in his eyes. He had a crooked smile.
But when she saw him move she knew the boy had style.
And when he took her hand and led her to the floor.
She knew she’d found the one. And she need look no more.
Gliding over the ballroom floor to the sound of a sweet guitar.
They were there; dancing from Star to Star
He didn’t like her hair. It hid her pretty face.
But when he saw her move he knew the girl had grace.
And when she took his hand and walked on to the floor.
He knew he’d found the one he’d love for evermore.
Gliding over the ballroom floor to the sound of a sweet guitar.
They were there; dancing from Star to Star
Through the years they danced on, through the good times and the bad.
There were times when the joy of the dance was the only joy they had.
The waltz, the Tango, American Smooth, the Foxtrot and the Jive.
Each time they danced together they felt so much alive.
But the ages stripped them of the lightness in their feet.
Till the only dance they knew was weekly, ‘Strictly’ on TV.
Now they’re dead and gone. Their dancing shoes lie still.
But some things linger on. Some things you just can’t kill.
They are the stuff of stars. They are the stuff that dreams are made on.
In every step we take. In every move we make.
I like to think that they’re out there, somewhere; whether near or far.
They are there; stepping from Star to Star.
They are there; gliding from Star to Star.
They are there; dancing from Star to Star.
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5. |
A Letter Too Soon
04:32
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She picked up the letter that came with the rest of the things they sent back from the war.
His watch and his rings and a dozen odd things she knew she had no further use for.
She’d never asked for a hero.
Medals were never a part of her plan.
Ribbons and stripes count for zero.
She’d fallen in love with a man.
She found him one day, in the last week of May, on a warm Sunday afternoon.
But she lost him a letter too soon.
The note was unread but she knew what it said. In her heart she could see every line.
“We’re all doing well but we miss you like hell and we hope that you’re all keeping fine.
Jenny has just started teething.
But she doesn’t complain. She’s a brave little girl.
And though she can’t say it I know that she prays.
For her daddy to come home to her world.
And the bed feels so cold ‘cos you’re not here to hold. And your old guitars way out of tune.
And I hope you’ll be coming home soon.
‘Cos when I thing of your jokes I start laughing along.
And when I think of you singing I join in your song.
And when I think of your loving I know I belong in your arms, in your eyes, in your heart.
And when I look at the frame with our wedding inside.
My little heart beats till I’m bursting with pride.
When I think of the moment that I said that I’d be with you ‘Until death us do part’”
Then the night closed around her and the tears nearly drowned her.
As they washed all the light from the pale crescent moon.
She lost him a letter too soon.
She wept until dawn; till the first birds of morning brought in the new day with their songs.
IN a neat silver frame, behind Sarah and James sits the letter; right where it belongs.
And outside the sun keeps on shining.
While the poor broken blossoms lay still on the ground.
And the men keep on dying and the children keep on crying.
And the world keeps on spinning around.
She found him one day, in the last week of May, on a warm Sunday afternoon.
But she lost him a letter too soon.
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6. |
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Well I never heard him talk about the war
To me he was just ‘Grandad’ playing draughts in his favourite chair
To his comrades he was ‘Bobby’ and he chose his friends with care
But I’d seen his medals in a little wooden box and I knew that he’d been there
But I never heard him talk about the war
No I never heard him talk about the war.
But he made it back alive from France by the mercy of a surgeon’s knife
And he met his lady fair Isabella and in time she became his wife
And my mother and father told me he was a fighter all his life.
But I never heard him talk about the war
Well I never heard him talk about the war
But he battled through the depression years and when the money was low
He sang ballads in the back courts for the farthings folk would throw
To but bread upon the table so he could see his family grow.
But I never heard him talk about the war
Well I never heard him talk about the war
But he turned his hand to the Clydeside cranes and he got him a union card
And he fought for the rights of the boys in the bunnets – the poorest of the yard
And he fought the men in the bowler hats and he fought them bloody hard
But I never heard him talk about the war
No I never heard him talk about the war
But he lived his last days a deaf old man with eyes that could barely see.
He had lost his lady sweet Isabella and broken soul was he.
Then one day out of nowhere he turned his eyes to me
And in an old grey voice he spoke about the war.
Well I listened as he spoke about the war.
How he watched his best friend die beside him in a flash of blood and lead
How he saw the sniper through the wire and pointed at his head.
How he watched the bugger jerk and fall and he knew the man was dead
And he never spoke again about the war.
No I’d never heard him talk about the war
But the taking of another man’s life left a scar that never healed
And he carried the memory all his days of that bloody foreign field
And he kept it locked deep in his heart. It was only once revealed.
And he never spoke again about the war
No I never heard him talk about the war
He didn’t fight for King and Country or Governments or States
He didn’t fight to keep his parliament from the enemy at the gates
He was fighting for his family. He was fighting for his mates.
Now he’ll never talk again about the war.
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7. |
April 2020
04:16
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I recall, it was in April.
Little shoots of green were rising here and there.
The world had fallen still and silent.
The streets were free from cars. Only birdsong filled the air.
I recall it was in April.
I held your hand in mine as we walked down to the store.
We joined the people waiting patiently in line.
And smiled at the security as they let us through the door.
We passed old friends on opposite pavements.
Close enough to wave hello but not close enough to say it.
We passed the darkened bars; the sad cafes, the silent stores.
Doors all closed. How very strange, but I guess that’s just the way.
It was our last walk together.
The sun shone on our faces as we smiled at one another.
It was our last walk together. And now I am walking alone.
I recall it was in April.
I heard your gentle coughing. I touched your fevered skin.
The world was trembling all around me.
I wept like a child as I let the young men in.
I recall it was in April.
The crying of the siren as they carried you away.
You breathed your last in lonely silence.
I could not be with you as you slipped away from me.
It was our last walk together.
The sun shone on our faces as we smiled at one another.
It was our last walk together. And now I am walking alone.
I recall ………………………..
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8. |
The Runner
04:23
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It’s a cold September evening. And she’s running through the rain.
Her heart is beating faster now. But she’s breaking through the pain.
And the pavement rises up to meet the pounding of her aching feet.
And the road ahead looks clearer that it was a while ago.
And she knows she’s come a long way but there’s still so far to go.
She’s thinking of a lifetime. She thought was gonna last.
She’s focused on the future. But she can’t forget the past.
And her warm breath clouds the evening air and the cold wind whispers in her hair.
She’s got to keep on running through the street lamps’ amber glow.
And she knows she’s come a long way but there’s still so far to go.
Past familiar places she’s knows so many years.
The dark, unseeing faces. Yes she’s cried so many tears.
But there’s still another mile to run. Behind her is the setting sun.
And the pale moon rises up ahead to start the evening show.
And she knows she’s come a long way but there’s still so far to go.
One more hill to climb now. And her home is now in sight.
So she slows her pace a little. Still a lot to do tonight.
‘Cos she’s got to get her boy to bed and get ready for the day ahead.
But now she’s sleeping better since she can’t remember when.
And she’s dreaming of tomorrow night, when she can run again.
And dignified and gracefully she slips into the night.
Till the warm September morning draws her back into the light.
And she turns to face the morning sun and gently wakes her sleeping son.
And the way ahead looks clearer than it was a while ago.
And she knows she’s come a long way but there’s still so far to go.
And the pavement rises up to meet the pounding of her aching feet.
And the road ahead looks clearer that it was a while ago.
And she knows she’s come a long way but there’s still so far to go.
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9. |
Glory
04:41
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I canna see ye, lad. I canna see ye.
For a’ yon glory that’s aboot your heid.
Yon licht that haps ye and the hosts that’s wi’ ye.
Aye, but ye live and it’s mysel’ that’s deid.
They gaid frae mill and mart; frae windblawn places.
The grey toon closes i’ the empty street.
Nae mair the bairns ken their steps; their faces.
Nor stan’ tae listen to the trampin’ feet.
Beside the brae and soughin’ through the rashes.
Yer voice comes back tae me at ilka turn.
Amang the whins and whaur the water washes.
The arn tree wi’ its feet amang the burn.
Whiles ye come back tae me when day is fleein’.
And a’ the road oot by is dim wi’ nicht.
But weary e’en like mine are no’ for seein’.
And gin they saw they wad be blind wi’ licht.
Deith canna kill. The moules o’ France lie o’er ye.
And yet ye live, o sodjer o’ the Lord.
For him that focht wi’ deith and doule afore ye.
He geid the life. ‘Twas him that geid the sword.
But gin ye see my face or gin ye hear me.
I daurna ask. I mauna seek tae ken.
That I should dee wi sic a glory near me.
By nicht or day come ben, my bairn. Come ben.
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10. |
Ten Winters Long
04:24
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The love we used to share is now ten winters long.
The joy that we once knew is worn out and done.
We used to laugh so easily and hold each other tenderly.
But you don’t really care for me no more.
And as you turn away and face the cold December sun.
You say goodbye to Ten Winters Long.
No more tears.
Nothing lasts forever no matter how hard you try.
You just get old. You just get weary, night after night.
But honey I can’t understand how I let you slip right through my hands.
Like so many grains of sand on a lonely shore.
And as the front door slams behind me and I’m gone.
I say goodbye to Ten Winters Long.
No more tears. No more crying.
The thought of living without you scares the Hell out of me.
But there ain’t no other was as far as we can see.
So we’ll just go our separate ways. And live out our remaining days.
And try to find a kinder place where we can smile again.
We tried so hard to make it right but it just came out all wrong.
So we say goodbye to Ten Winters Long.
No more tears. No more crying. No more hurting. One last goodbye.
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11. |
The Midden Weans
05:06
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The clatterin’ cuddy hauls the cart to the end o’ Garnet Lane.
“The rag man’s here” the weans a’ cheer. White faced in the rain.
A windmill for the tattered coat yer ma’ no longer wears.
And the laughter o’ the Midden Weans echoes through the years.
The midden men, broad shouldered boys, drag buckets through the close.
And a crowd o’ clabber covered bairns have come tae watch the show.
A mighty cloud of ash and stoor erupts oot o’ the van.
And when I grow up I think I’m goin’ to be a midden man.
“Get aff the dyke”! Wee Aggie cries “Afore ye hurt yersels”!
And a crowd o’ mocking munchkins mime the hunchback wi’ the bells.
“Away ye go and bile yer heid ya humphy backit coo”.
And the cruelty o’ the midden weans cuts my conscience through.
The ‘Hillies’ and the ‘Gayfield Boys’ are battlin’ in the street.
Tin battle axes in their hands and sannies on their feet.
The ragged army clash and clang wi’ armoured dungarees.
Then homeward march to pick their scabs and bathe their wounded knees.
Two laddies on a crumblin’ dyke gaze out from years ago.
Their coal black eyes stare back at me. Their lives so well I know.
The grainy Marzaroli boys: the boys I used to be.
So long ago and yet so clear the memories are to me.
The years go by so quickly now. The weans are fading fast.
But a corner of my mind retains the shadows of the past.
But was I truly happy then? The halcyon days of yore.
And the laughter o’ the Midden Weans will soon be nevermore.
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Ronnie Miller Edinburgh, UK
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