Strumming Ain't Strumming

Strumming ain't strumming,
When you're listening to,
The chords of your heart as it breaks.
Strumming ain't strumming at that point.

Singing ain't singing,
When you're hollowing to,
The songs that your memories awake.
Singing ain't singing at that point.

Breathing ain't breathing.
When you're hanging on to,
The sigh of your girl now she's gone.
Breathing ain't breathing at that point.

Loving ain't loving,
When you're out searching for,
The worst you can wish on the world.
Loving ain't loving at that point.

Glass

I'm a glass,
And I'm not empty.
I'm a glass,
And I'm not full.
I'm a glass,
And I can shatter you.

Two Friends Went Exploring

Bob lost Bill.
Bob gave up.
Bill lost Bob.

Paper Tower

I'm building a paper tower,
I refer to though I'm older.
The storeys pile on top of each other.
And most meet with failure.

Then they galvanize,
And are stronger.

I'm building a paper tower,
It's better now I'm older,
The stories pile on pages,
And most meet with failure.

And we galvanize,
And are stronger.

How Mysterious

How mysterious must a world be,
To take in you with me?
Maybe there's a pier where lullabies sleep,
And maybe there's a steeple the stood-upon stones keep
To themselves.

How mysterious must one world be,
To process you with me?
Maybe there's a deer with ashes for eyes,
Or maybe there's a people the people despise
Of themselves.

Necropolis

Leaning against the bar of wishful drinking

The bar reeks of downtrodden men, tortured present and irretrievable past.
Monday heartache and weekend tarts.
Drip Tray drowning in slurred frothy truth,
Beer towel stained with spillage and bluff.
The floor a carpet of careless trash,
the patina of hopelessness mingling with splinters of glass.
Pints to forget are served to the eager, the friendship of strangers sought out by the speaker,
their telling of stories from a chaos of loathing both tragic and comical to those painted with the agony of knowing.
The jukebox jumble, an earthquake masking,
the sound of unfettered dismay and shackled fuming.
Disco and pop, the illusion of fun, the anger of rap more nostalgic crap,
the poetry of pain backed by a dizzying tune,
toe tapping delirium forsaken in three minutes time.
The fake delight exhaled from Landlords breath,
their friendship eternal or at least until the alcohol ruins your health.
Smoke free interior, electric bright.
Disinfectant odour come Saturday night.
..... Time Gentlemen Please.

Big White Carpet

The big white carpet's taken a hit,
I fell asleep - drunk again - and dreamed of it.

The blood-red wine dripped from my glass
Down my twitching hand, and dripped on it.

My mind showed slides of when you bought it,
I saw me, pretending it didn't exist.

Your big white carpet's taken a hit.
I lit a match - Old Steady Hand - and I let go of it.

Single Once More

The walls are red
The memories flawed
The tears mingle
With blood drawn
The walls are red
Fabric undone
Limbs go astray
Arguements done
The walls are red
With anguish unfettered
Your name on the door
In crimson letters
The walls are red
And so is the knife
That tore you asunder
That ended your life
The walls are red
I feel no remorse
I can now move on
You are out of my thoughts

The walls are dead

Chaos On The Ruin

King to Rook Four

Cajun moon in Antarctic sky
Lovers leaping, heartbreaks die.
Dust and Feathers from whirling wilds
Metal rusts and disposable child.
Sense is useless, instinct flawed
Evil everywhere, goodness stored.
Concrete tree and organic harp
Gigabyte brain idiot sharp.
Tachyon messages, eyes of an Owl
Exit to extinction, barely a scowl

The Vampire's Zombie

I don’t expect vocals so flawless they’re devoid of inflection
I don’t want three minute perfection, nor orchestral interjection.
I don’t desire techno samplings, nor cross-genre trampling.
I don’t demand dance routines I can emulate in the disco, nor millions spent on the obligatory video.
I don’t insist upon matching suit and dress, nor timed exposé in tabloid press.
I don’t care that you were larging it this weekend, that you are down with the fans, that you went to Glastonbury before you were famous, that your drum player makes your ears rupture with his thunderous pounding, that you’re releasing your CD with a commemorative DVD documenting for the world the creation of your new musical dawn, and that the I-tunes download also comes as an acoustic version to prove to me that you are not simply an empty face painted in by focus group artists with corporate brushes.
I really don’t care that you grew up on Smash Hits and Top of the Pops, that your first love was Brother Beyond or Yazz, or that her Plastic Population was your musical nirvana, forgive me if I yawn, your every word is like swimming with Piranhas: Hard to get through.
I regret that your phizog is gracing the hordes of T-shirts I see marching through the empty high streets your image, lifestyle and poetic ugliness the gospel to the allegedly disaffected youth, whose aimless, gormless, worthless travels from bus stop to off license is backed by your worthless, gormless, aimless creation. Congratulations, enjoy your three tracks worth of fame we’ll see you in about twenty years when despite the ravages of time and the aches and strain associated with shelf stacking you will reappear to darken our stereos once more brought out from moth balls to satisfy that generations demand for retro-laughs.

Now I know you don’t care but just for the sake of balance, here is what I want, and don’t worry, you don’t have to provide it, I understand it is beyond your limitations as a soulless product of a faceless conglomerate designed to steal money from retarded teens looking to someone else to satisfy their need for an identity.

I want lyrics that tear through my apathetic days like maddened Alsatians,
I demand a voice so tortured that it sounds like it has been tossed around a concentration camp like a bloody stump, or maybe even a voice of honey dripped sweetness whose every sound is like a perfect Summer's day.
I want effortless musical symbiosis that crawls into my ears and nestles in my brain for a day or two, a sound that makes my bones quiver and my heart turn itself inside out as it tries to play along with the beat on my rib cage.
I ask for nothing but honesty and everything including the truth, I hurt, you hurt, we live, we die, don't deny the beauty of darkness, embrace it knowing that the sun may not rise tomorrow and there is beauty in that unknown future.
I want words that speak of the now you are in but which still transcend time and fashion to mean to me what they meant to you without fading.
I want what you do to mean more than what you earn, but don't worry I know you wont read this... Hell nobody will, for I am just the Vampire's Zombie.

Wanderers

I live in a world of wanderers,
Clones of myself, side by side,
And following each other
through the desert, into the sea.

I live in a world of wanderers,
Clones of myself, all greyed out
With bullets for heads,
And guns to their chests, following me.

Needles

When you're awake, you see me
Through cottonwool clouds and
Sympathetic eyes,
And maybe I'm looking at someone else.

When I'm asleep, I see you
Through blood and veins and
Vomiting skies,
And maybe you're looking at someone else.

When Your Eyes Go Out

When my eyes go out,
My love,
No-one will be available
To follow me.
When my eyes go out.

When my eyes go out,
My love,
No-one will be capable
Of walking me.
When my eyes go out.

When your eyes go out -
My love
Won't be capable,
Of stalking me.
When your eyes go out.

Something About Your Emoticon

Something about your emoticon
Makes me smile
On those long drives to nowhere
I take when you're not there.

Something about that special place
Makes me think
If you were just the other face
I wouldn't even care.

But something about your emoticon
Turns me on
On those long drives to nowhere
I take when you're not there.