1. |
The Galata Square
04:36
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I scare off the pigeons, as I start to sing
A song I learnt in Vienna, on a teardrop mandolin
Which aside from a few scratches, has survived pretty good
As I dragged it down the Danube, to the straits of Istanbul
Which is where I sat for hours, in the shadow of the Galata tower
Which rises out of the skyline, like an ancient concrete flower
And a bunch of blind wonderers, gathered at its stem
It was beautiful for an hour or two but we never, saw eachother again.
A fire-breathing beauty, flees the Baltic cold
And all the usual ties, of a twenty nine year old
And her love flees Damascus, though that's hardly plain to see
As through rose tinted Lennon glasses, he raves about LSD
And a Bosnian boxer, says he's too broke to leave
So he looks to earn his wages, by fighting in cages
People will pay to see him, be violent but fair
But today he's peacefully passing his time with a hoola hoop
In the Galata Square
And a barefoot borther and sister, wish to sail the Black Sea
So on guitar and ukulele, they busk to earn their fee
And they've survived just like this, since they left Belarus
And they braided my love's hair, all sea greens and blues
And the colours hadn't faded, when I saw her last
Although only months ago, it all seems burried in the past
Though so much has soured, since we were there
We'll always reminisce about that day, in the Galata Square
In the Galata Square
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2. |
More lost than found
04:10
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He tried to live in the city and blend in with the crowd
He didn't blend well enough and he was soon rooted out
He tried to live in the suburbs surrounded by a white picket fence
His neighbors spied on him through their curtains and so he spied back on them
He tried to live off the land burrying seeds in the ground
there was so much burried down there that it looked like a lost and found
but more lost than found
He tried to live on the road determined not to settle down
like a dog chasing its own tail he was just running around and round
No matter where he lived nothing ever felt quite right
but he's got to live somewhere until the day he dies.
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3. |
The Eighth of January
04:42
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January's always a long one
Once the resolutions are all long gone
But I´ll always make the wrong ones
As long as the ice on the Karl Heine canal clings on
Nothing's looking its best
The sun even seems in need of a rest
Spring teases with warm breezes
But every snowman's determined to be the last one left
How pretty were the fireworks?
Before they were trodden into much
Amidst the grit and dirt
What will we learn from the pavement's icebergs?
In this glacial retreat before the ice age returns
There's nothing more I want dug up round here
My dear, my dear
What a way to start the year
I remember whenn my time here had just begun
Watching pages of Tolstoy yellowing in the sun
Listening to all of Anna's regrets
And to naked pensioners laughing in thick dialects
By the lakeside all afternoon
Well if that's growing old I hope I'll grow old soon
A new towns a great place to settle down
All I had to do was find a home that didn't move
That's all a lifetime ago, or so it seems
but even January ends and feels like a bad dream
I'll be back by the lakeside, more regrets to hear
I just pray the naked pensioners have lasted the year
As I've lasted eight days of strain on the brain
Another new year's day spent with an old flame
And the only thing on which we can depend
I hate to say it my friend but that it all come round again
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4. |
Plagwitz
05:34
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I keep waking to machines
making an awful din
Building the city I'm living in
Wonder what it'll look like
When all the work's done
Doubt an improvement on when they began
It's a gamble, but worth a try
To get rich off people not wanting to live outside
When I see a city, I see nothing more
Than an oversized monopoly board
Sure you might tread on a few toes
Meet with some restraint
With kids running round at night
With cans of spray paint
Saying "Wir bleiben alle
Eins Drei Eins Zwei
Yuppie Schweine fette Jahren
Sind jetzt vorbei
So go back to wherever you came from
Liebe Grüße, Anarcho morons
Deep down no one really likes change
Especially when it happens fast
You'll never recognise yourself
On these corners that you pass
But son, you should have seen it
In the glory years
More dogs than people
We're living here
Music in cafes at night
For those who cared
The stench of revolutionaries
Hanging in the air
Wrecking balls made short work of all
We held dear
And they'll move to another neighborhood
Next year
Never understanding how there could be such love
For streets full of nothing but boarded up pubs
Deep down no one really likes change
Especially when it happens fast
You'll never recognise yourself
On the corners of your past
I spend my evenings walking down streets
With unpronounceable names
Each generation
They seem to change
To suit new heroes and villains
New states and nations
New regimes built on the old foundations
We're always looking forward and never behind
But the past could trip you up
At any times
As these windows would tell us
If their windows weren't blind
Reduce them to rubble
Just to keep them quiet
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Alastair Gordon Sheffield, UK
Original and traditional finger-picked folk and blues delivered in a baritone voice alongside a creative approach to guitar and harmonica. Lyrical content reflects a life split between South Yorkshire and North Saxony.
Alastair Gordon recommends:
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It´s a little known fact that the Spagetti western films were actually shot in Norfolk
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