Song Lyric-Hanging On ‘Til Morning

A lad I know is a member of a local band. He had a riff and outline for a new song, but no lyrics. Being familiar with my book, he asked if I could come up with some lyrics for it, and this is my attempt. Something I’ve never done before, but I think poetry and song lyrics are consenting bedfellows.

I think it works better with the music rather than standing alone in naked print, but here you go.

Will let you know if it makes the radio 🙂

Hanging On 'Til Morning

Satellite town where the sun sinks down
the people are the sheaves
of the concrete fields
stirred by degrees 
by the Pennine breeze

Hanging on 'til morning
Hanging on 'til morning.

The bucket bleed of the rusting heaps
the black cats creep
where the oil sinks deep
wandering free
the schizophrenic streets

Hanging on 'til morning
Hanging on 'til morning

The stifled screams of a dead man's dreams
sit up and watch the clock
and the winnowing fork
taking the drop
on a lifetime's work

Hanging on 'til morning
Hanging on 'til morning


©AJM

Pain Is Love

I woke this morning to the news that Debbie Reynolds had died, just one day after Carrie Fisher. The strain must have been just too much for the aged star. “She’s now with Carrie and we’re all heartbroken,” said her son, Todd Fisher. “She said, ‘I want to be with Carrie’, and then she was gone.”

Debbie wanting to be with her daughter is a nice thought, but what a time their family must be going through. On hearing the news, the lyrics of Ja Rule came to mind:

If pain is truly love,

for my family I die.

R.I.P both mother&daughter.

Thought For The Day

I was singing along to Christmas songs. Walking In The Air came on: ended up with a neck like Deirdre Barlow.*

*for non-English readers, Deirdre Barlow was a character in a soap opera, whose straining neck chords were much commented on during emotional scenes.

Entrances And Exits/Morrison And Lennon

On this day, the 8th of December, my two long-time favourite artists are linked irrevocably. In Memory and Gratitude:

City Jackdaw

The 8th of December is a date that links together my two favourite musical artists, two artists that I have been listening to for what seems most of my life.

On the 8th of December, 1943, James Douglas Morrison, son of a Navy Officer, was born. He would go on to become the focal point and frontman of The Doors, known by such self-given and tongue in cheek epithets such as the Lizard King, Shaman, and Erotic Politician.

He is one of the few rock or pop stars whose poetry is read seriously, as poetry. As a poet he tends to polarise opinion, but I like his writing, and his song lyrics helped to set the group apart from the usual music crowd. In the days when The Mama’s And The Papa’s were dreaming of California and over the pond The Beatles were telling the world that all you need…

View original post 488 more words