Carpenter's whisper

not bad for a morning's tube ride into work. Hit a bit of a purple vein. Must have been the solstice morning. Still unfinished but the carpenter from carpenters pencil is back and struggling for inspiration because the lady of the wood won't let him see the shapes he need to see to make things. A bit like song writing, probably.

It's ten years since i cut the grain
Since i made a mark with a lathe or a plain
Ten years since the blade moved my hand
Shaving away what the wood would command
But She won't speak to me no  more
Won't reveal clues to what lies in the core
She'd take my heart and cut my hands 
cos I saw the face of her ever green man

A carpenter lives for the line
Mining the shapes from the circles of time
Just a pawn in natures old game
Breathing in life to what's felled by the chain
But she won't talk to me no more
Hours I stand but it's not like before
 She blunts the knife and soaks my tears 
Cos I know what's in store when the green man appears

Raise your glass

it turned into a drinking song. Funny how actually having a drink doesn't help the writing process much but it always seems to make good subject matter. The cough seems to have helped my voice a bit and of course introducing the new miss tanglewood herself. Have a listen on myspace/dombailed

Raise your glass

A holy communion of saints of the sewer
 is gathered around at my side
Criminals writers and poets and thieves
 I call brothers with some sense of pride.

There on the table lies jude the obscure
A prince among men in these parts
Known for his thinking 
But more for his drinking 
He'll live on in each of our hearts 

So raise your glass for one more round
So raise your glass for one more round

Got my looks from my father
Red eyes from my ma
And my purse from that guy on the floor
Got my boots from a priest making love in the park
So I don't think he cares anymore

Now I've travelled the world and sat in the shade
And watched death on a warm afternoon
I've broken the bread And bloodied the blade 
And forgone the sun for the moon

So raise your glass for one more round...

Now I still believe there is truth to be found 
at the bottom of each glass or jar
A whisper of angels vibrating around 
in your head  it hits the bar

Some people say that your wasting hour life
With your head in a muddle of clouds
But this holy communion of saints of the sewer
Is proud to be singing aloud

Raise your glass for one more round
Raise your glass for one more round

writing

but despite the lack of voice the pen keeps scribbling - new song opening line is A holy communion of saints of the sewer is gathered around at my side

silenced

flu then a cough then laryngitis - can't hold a note for toffee without sounding like a cross between film-voice-over man and a teenage boy - so no singing any time soon