1. |
Homesick Steve
05:00
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I sit at the pub by myself
To see some fine specimens of human health
Who look as old as the rain and thunder
But could maybe pass for a year or two younger
The smudges that once proclaimed their love was true
Reduced to another fading forearm tattoo
Their memory’s fading too
These men think that they’re free
Because they’ve shunned all responsibility
But why do they behave
In such an enslaved way
They come here to escape
But it’s the ball at the end of their chain
Their stories are the same but they bear being told again
It’s easy to condemn
Difficult to defend
And I can hardly pretend
It’s something that I comprehend
But all I’m told my future holds is ending up like them
Homesick longing for a place that I once fled
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2. |
The Blackwater Orchestra
03:28
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We’re served coffee and cake
His grandaughter translates
The english close to his ear
He recalls the first 60
Most easily
Of his 91 years
Not so hot on what’s happened today
But if you ask him he’ll happily say
That not matter what happened
He’d be on the bandstand
When the Blackwater Orchestra played
He played
Alto baritone
It’s like a tuba for those
Too small to see over the top
It gave him such bliss
Playing alternate fifths
On waltzes and marches and bops
But they only played funeral parades
When the Soviets came
But he never lost steam
Through the changing regimes
When the Blackwater Orchestra played
Now the young fly the nest
They move North or Southwest
To Stockholm, Helsinki or Rome
But he’ll never leave his home
His front yard and flagpole
From which so many colours have flown
When the conductor passed on
There was noone to carry it on
Now all those who played
Look back on those days
But the Blackwater Orchestra’s gone
And his instrument’s locked in it’s case
The brass has dulled with age
But I’m willing to bet
That he’ll never forget
What the Blackwater Orchestra played
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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.
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