Lyrics

his face veiled in a kind of melancholy

crowds gather noisily, bluster about him

he steps on to the grand stage of history

mother’s kiss still tingling on his brow

with each appearance

he is a little older

and a little more detached

from this world

he is a ridiculous man

he is a modern day illywacker

a professional trickster, spieler

a weaver of lines

he follows the shows, where the money goes

a salesman conjuring infallible tonics

he pulls the wool over their eyes

it’s true, he is full of contradiction

but even this still renders his destiny

more beautiful, more clumsy than a first kiss

more beautiful, more clumsy than a first kiss

with each appearance

he is a little older

and a little more detached

from this world

he likes composing

his own history

from the most pitiful of lies

he is a ridiculous man

he is a modern day illywacker

words: John Holton/Steve Lane

music: Steve Lane

if he could reduce his life

to scraps of paper

half-truths and inkstained relics

an unreliable exhibition

of a distant time

pinned to a board

like butterflies behind glass

but you can’t pin memory

or thread it on a string

when it swirls and flutters

like ticker tape falling

ticker tape falling on the parade of life

if he could reduce his life

to all his liquid absorbed

to preserve his true flavour

an unreliable concoction

sweetened to taste and last

and shelved in the dark like jam bottled in glass

could you reduce his life

to secondhand stories

from the past

half-truths and ink-stained relics

an unreliable reflection

and fading with time

as he evaporates in his ward

like a butterfly caught in glass

let it fall and let it fall down

words: John Holton/Steve Lane

music: Steve Lane

so many times

we passed on the stairs

exchanged smiles

with a self conscious flick of the hair

pleasantries

at the coffee machine

your effervescence deceived

fast acting, temporary relIef

how could I have known that

inside you were dissolving

like aspirin

anything to kill the pain

inside you were dissolving

like aspirin

so many cc’d emails

small talk in subject line

sharing risque euro adverts

and powerpoint self help slides

the causes for which we rallied

signing petitions on-line

all the virtual chain letters

forwarded to pass the time

words: John Holton/Steve Lane

music: Steve Lane

all along the railway bridge

gazanias sprout from the cracks

in weathered redgum

so true and straight spined

like battlefield crosses

monuments to another time

can you imagine

their roots below

dangling free in the gentle breeze

above the bracken gully

where cows hidden graze

in the moonshadow

those hardy tendrils

tough as dog spikes

spring forth

while a hundred scented faces

crane north

to the waxing moon

and the rattling approach of ghost trains

the old signal box

with it’s weatherboards peeling

like skin blistered

from a hundred summers or more

lays haunted, strangled

by the claws of some noxious weed

and the rattling approach of ghost trains

words: John Holton/Steve Lane

music: Steve Lane

fist-thumping poly

hair parted neatly to the right

what high hopes

what high hopes we had

softly-spoken crusader

hugging babies to his breast

like a self-conscious christ

what high hopes he had

eyesight failing

weak of heart

he strokes his majority

cautiously

he plugged his doctrine

at the meet and greet

on the abc

what high hopes we had

while every press release

and crisp shirt policy

paints a portrait

of times like these

eyesight failing

weak of heart

he strokes his majority

cautiously

eyesight failing

weak of heart

he strokes his majority

cautiously blood pressure rising

is he falling apart

and in the minority

cautiously

and so it goes

on and on

what high hopes we had

and so it goes

on and on

words: John Holton/Steve Lane

music: Steve Lane

there were some memories

so real

he could squeeze them

in one hand

until the juice

ran down his wrist

there was some evidence

concealed

truth was tortured

behind locked doors

and blood washed

from their hands

so real

so real

so real as the very life within him

there was a father

who steeled

and cast himself

against the tide

until the water

lapped round his neck

but he wouldn’t go under

those memories

so real

when they’re all you’ve got

and all you can feel

and the trade offs

and the deals

life’s sacrificed

under corporate wheels

and the stain

won’t wash from their hands

we won’t let the stain

wash from their hands

words: John Holton/Steve Lane

music: Steve Lane

waking with an attitude

checkin’ out the cannons dude

fixin’ my invisible stare

then the world intervenes

slippery as an infomercial

impossible as bert newton’s hair

the dark forces

them’s the causes

the dark forces

here’s another verse

things are spinning in reverse

my aspirations

take a turn for the worse

sometimes i’m the singer

sometimes i’m just well sung

70 in a 60 zone

you’ve left your run

to late from home

bet there’ll be

a fine in the mail

boss is waiting at the door

please explain the week before

who said that justice

always prevails

just another story

from my twisted inventory

is life about toeing the line

i’ve got an everpresent feeling

the parrots set the ceiling

i’m a circus flea in a biscuit tin

in the de cafeteria

there’s no mass hysteria

they’re safe

in their cotton wool skin

they’re lowering

the monkey-bars

airbags on the dodgem cars

the only scars you find

are within

no ego in my stance

no socks in my pants

can’t you see i’m well sung

words: Steve Lane/John Holton/Chris Townsend

music: Steve Lane/Aaron Wales

her sundress swished

white straps on brown

a hint of peppermint

as she brushed passed

he read the first chapter

of a norman mailer biography

just to share the same sq. metre

and forgetting how to breathe

he was normally a literary man

but he lure of non fiction can

blur the lens of truth and fiction

so briefly

everyman’s affliction

her red lips kissed

brown straps on white

a hint of sandalwood

back home at last

he forgot to get

the latest isabel allende

she wanted to read

when you share

the same square metres

the air can be sweeter to breathe

he was normally a literary man

but he lure of non-fiction can

blur the lens

of truth and fiction

so briefly

everyman’s a fiction

words: John Holton/Steve Lane

music: Steve Lane

that’s no way

to treat a friend

you knew that more

than anyone

there was no sense

that you could mend

you drank the warm

montana sun

your path was fixed

let’s not pretend

that love’s no way

to treat a friend

the secrets of past tense transcend

all the good

that you have done

the poet’s heart

the stories penned

but you could never be the favourite one

and you never rode the trend

cause love’s no way

to treat a friend

a shotgun blast

and time suspends

the nation’s long

forgotten son

truth and history gently bend

you write your end

akin to donne

oh, the manuscripts

you’ll never send

cause love’s no way

to treat a friend

a phone rings in san francisco...the end

words: John Holton

music: Jimmy Williams/Steve Lane

i miss every minute of you in the long long days

between dripping canvas and life’s salty haze

the longing of sea and mud and mosquito coils

and soft, soft flesh pressed

in a poem far, far away

the pipers and the fidlers played

on the village green

like something from lawrence

something long foreseen

like bit players in a seaside tragedy

cast there as love’s bait the briefest reverie

now kiss by kiss, we disappear

between the lines of fading sentences

our misplaced souvenir

beneath the filaments of an unreliable memory

to a tent by the ocean

in a poem far, far away

i never saw a wild thing sorry for itself

but this song keeps on singing me

and I ain’t gonna sing nothin else

still bit players in a seaside tragedy

cast me there as love’s bait

throw away the key

a hammock slung between venus and mars

leaves you plenty of space to dream

give me that crescent moon

on a midsummers monsoon

and i’m back at the scene

words: John Holton/Steve Lane

music: Steve Lane