1. |
Seamstress
03:59
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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.
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2. |
Walk Me Home
03:01
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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.
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3. |
A Child With My Name
04:21
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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.
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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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