The other day, even though it was silly hot I got up high to the part of the Western Heights where very few people go. This section of the Heights doesn’t overlook the sea, it’s the backside of The White Cliffs and a safe home for the wild things. There’s no call for masks up
Tag: Lyrics
The writing was never on the wall It’s got to be epic or nothing at all I heard in the distance a silent call ‘There’s no point in climbing if you can’t take a fall’ Tell that to the dream rescuer Tell that to your beating heart Tell that to the big mouth Who says,
‘Drama’ Most everything we see becomes theatre A wild sea the ocean’s one-night-only stage Up above, storm clouds dancing to the gale’s orchestration And on the shoreline it don’t need any seating to engage An audience of strangers who never bought a ticket This show, the dark clouds have put it on for free Eyes
‘Source: Entertainment Mesh’ It’s always a privilege collaborating with Geetha Prod’hom As I once wrote a while back she’s, “The talented lady of more artistic skills and genres than I could ever count.” If you don’t know of her already, do check out the multi-faceted WP blog of GEETHA – there’s a whole gallery of
In the corner of the sky Through the window of my mind Looks to be a silver ray of light To the shiver of a nightmare Not asleep and not awake If you hang around you’ll get the last invite To the library of dreams The home of honest schemes And wild things that only
‘Charleville-Mézières Poster Display’ I guess like any art form sometimes you have to look back to places where creativity came easy – back to when words and melody were best mates – to when a hat full of songs pretty much created themselves. Looking back at photos of personal memories and things that made you
‘The Way Back Home’ Just across from me is a place called the Western Heights. It’s now just a local nature reserve, but once during the Napoleonic Wars in the 1860’s, its vast defences were designed to protect Dover from French invasion. It’s been said that the Western Heights of Dover were one of the
‘A long way from home – the first living thing you’ll see’ Written in the first person and based on an interview with a refugee on TV a while back. It stayed with me. I walked from somewhere into nowhere As a lonesome refugee No possessions, but in my pocket Safe and sound, a memory
‘Last Year’s Silhouettes’ Historians can’t wait until tomorrow When they’re writing of a time that had no flaws The planet and the wildlife feeling better They think it’s because the humans were locked indoors The interest on borrowed time much too heavy You can’t stop the clock and runaway no more In this place, that
There are no hero’s out tonight, the last one took the late night flight Above the clouds, under the moon, and down below the next typhoon Tomorrow’s not another day, tomorrow I start again – OK? I dreamed of some place far away, where time stands still and echoes betray What’s not made of hate
