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Walk Me Home

by Del Scott Miller

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1.
Seamstress 03:59
The seamstress plied her needle for neither thanks or fame and though fabric may have frayed buttons never fell too far Mended, cleaned and folded with never two the same but odd was always insubstantial reason to discard. She said 'I'll never pull the thread from those continental shows I don't court the great designers – I'm not tall enough to pose but I'll wrap you up like no one else with labels never out Here's everything you'll ever need not nothing to write home about. Every pot and pan brimmed over with a day-shift's worth of pride No frill or fancies present with the must-haves there amassed With little more than flint, fire and mettle that defied the laws of science every meal she served broke some unspoken fast. She said 'I won't win any stars or have them queueing in their droves I don't care for rules of what one eats with red or white or rose but, though you may arrive unfed, you'll never go without Here's everything you'll ever need but nothing to write home about. The gathering shadows of time conspired to shroud the facing hill, the passing star grew cold and detail slid from view but, though her vision faltered She said 'I don't have breath to scale what youth takes in its stride. I don't seek out peaks to conquer – bragging always bows to pride but I've a lifetime's map of tracks that you can trust when lights go out. Here's everything you'll ever need but nothing to write home about.
2.
Walk Me Home 03:01
If you see me drifting off, kick me out into the cold I dare not entertain the rest. Should I not make the most of your kindly welcome to the fold just know that elsewhere has me pressed. While it pains me to refuse, and I loathe to spurn an open hand, on this occasion please excuse I can't be part of any plan, because she'll be back to walk me home. Should the second hand be lost beneath a sigh of solace found give me a stone to roll uphill. When you're all beautified and glossed, stepping out into the town I'm best left monochrome and still. So, while I'm grateful for your time - I know it's such a precious thing to give - I'm afraid I'm governed by the chime and humbly ask that you forgive, because She'll be back to walk me home She said so and she never had the grace to tell a lie so I'll keep my coat and shoes on and watch those milestones pass me by. At the risk of being a most ungracious guest knowing full well that you'd never seee me lost and although I won't dispute I need that rest rest assured the end will justify the cost when she comes back to walk me home.
3.
There, nothing's harvested or sown, nothing weakens, nothing grows Youth and nerve they say I once owned fill scenes I'm told I ought to know. Attire that evokes what secrets failed to keep the one percent awake Horrors now just anecdotes, parables of how an era breaks. Bled of colour, not quite black and white, something haunted, something lost Squares and ovals scattered across walls tell of times when fingers crossed I scoured every corner of each warped and faded frame and found no one more familiar than a child with my name. Free from the fallout of each image since repaying every glare Signed and stickered commendations, yellow at the edges, a font now used in irony alone Someone of a species known only by a surname prasies how much discipline was shown Grades and inclinations vie for influence and bias beneath a growing sediment of dust A cap and gown confined, shedding thread with each year spent rue the day they proudly placed their trust The principles they promise and the faculties they claim betray no one more familiar than a child with my name. Free from the fallout of potential all those milestones brought to bear Tiny cars that planted seeds of aspiration fill a box that bears the emblem of a brand no longer sold. Catapults and guns and bows and arrows, decommissioned having taught what glories victory can hold Cinematic villains cling with growing desperation to what little ancient menace they can find As their paint peels away it's clear they're moulded much the same as all those heroes to whose ruin they'd been assigned. The hours of play they weathered, distraction without shame the weightless work of some fictitious child with my name. Free from the fallout of knowing no one else was playing fair.

credits

released April 29, 2021

Del Scott Miller: words and music, vocals, guitar
Fionnuala Donnelly-Schmidt: cello
James Fosberry: recording and engineering
Phil Ruston: design

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Del Scott Miller Barnsley, UK

Del Scott Miller is a songwriter, guitarist, composer and poet from Barnsley, South Yorkshire. Calling on the experiences and ideals of his Northern working class background, his songs often marry poetic and cinematic narratives with a guitar approach informed as much by jazz and classical traditions as his singer/songwriter influences. ... more

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