Build Library Here (or else!)

Build Library Here (or else!)

© pagan wanderer lu 2005

The ending makes what came before a story

Ignoring the warnings on cigarette packets
As if time goes in cycles or forward then back its
like first will come joy and then always come sorrow
and you could get hit by the future tomorrow
Your whole life has been building up to today
The orchestra swells the camera pans away
to reveal the climactical ephiphanies
like the first one you saw and all the ones in between

And we all feel the urge to see patterns emerge
but in truth what weï¿½re looking for is
the ending which makes what came before a story
and if patterns emerge and we get what we deserve
what message are we sending?
If history makes whatï¿½s happening now an ending?

The good always triumph cos they write the history
and if any mouths open and dare contradict we
kill all non-believers and dig them mass graves
then talk in terms of the lives that weï¿½ve saved by denying a moment of uncertainty
and implying thereï¿½s progress in infallibility
as if every step forward comes like penicillin
and nothing is random weï¿½re all quite unwilling

to admit that you can see patterns in patches of sand
if youï¿½re looking for it.
the ending makes what came before a story
and if patterns emerge and we get what we deserve
what message are we sending?
If history makes whatï¿½s happening now an ending?

Show me yr Knuckles

Show me yr knuckles they get you into trouble
They take and they shuffle the pieces of the puzzle
and youï¿½re punching at buildings and kicking notice boards in
no ideas just fighting just for the sake of fighting

And the singers they struggle to figure out the puzzle
and they boil and they bubble and youï¿½re nothing but trouble
these bruises and scars arenï¿½t from playing a guitar
theyï¿½re from knockouts and blackouts and a creeping sense of self-doubt

This is taking too much time
watching puppies fall in line
and you go there for cheap wine
but you still forget to write
and it never means a thing
when the singers start to sing
and Iï¿½m tired of repetition but the clock is ticking

Patchwork and cross-stitch, no church sales for agnostics
we limp and we labour and owe no-one a favour
weï¿½re kings of our castle and we donï¿½t need the hassle
of drumsticks and burst lips and everyoneï¿½s a critic

and we all seek white knuckles and all prepare for trouble
and thereï¿½s locks on our cupboards and tinned food in our cellar
and we all hope our knuckles will keep us out of trouble
but we donï¿½t put our dukes up to burst our precious bubble

So we knuckle down and keep ourselves all stupid and scared
on the path of least resistance that will take us nowhere
I eat breakfast in the morning and my dinner at night
Iï¿½m fine with my unremarkable life
Jesus said ï¿½well you all must stay in bed
or you wont get any bread and Iï¿½ll shoot you in the head
then youï¿½ll be dead and your friends will be upset
and your life will be regret and all remaining will be your debtï¿½

Good Christian/Bad Christian

On Sunday my heart stops
My children born in wedlock
Caucasians/Eurasians
Who will protect our nation?
Sweet Jesus/Crowd Pleasers
We thank you for your business
Good Christian/Bad Christian
Come to my door with leaflets

I come to you with plans to be your leader
I come to you sing Iï¿½m a believer
Good Christian/Bad Christian
Baghdad canï¿½t tell the difference

Anne Coulter/Cucumber
To pledge just call this number
Salvation/Train Stations
Tax deductible donations
No piercings no dreadlocks
My children born in wedlock
Disparage gay marriage
2000 year old adage

I come to you with plans to be your leader
I come to you sing Iï¿½m a believer
Good Christian/Bad Christian
Baghdad canï¿½t tell the difference

When youï¿½re singing your songs Iï¿½m a believer
When youï¿½re dropping your bombs Iï¿½m a believer
Good Christian/Bad Christian
No god only religion

Keep the Weather Out

Well we fought some fights turned some wrongs into rights
and weï¿½ve got a clearer conscience we can sleep at night
so itï¿½s time to settle down for the rest of our lives
and be first time buyers if the price is right

Just you and me keeping company
inside our place and we can procreate
and weï¿½ll build some walls to stop the roof from falling
down on our heads when weï¿½re asleep in bed

Cos weï¿½ve finally sicked six figures down
and we found ourselves a city and weï¿½re checking it out
and thereï¿½s food on the table and a fire in the hearth
In our beautiful house with four walls to keep the weather out
Weï¿½re taking lots of pictures of the things that weï¿½ve done
and weï¿½ll buy a slide projector and show everyone
all the mediocre holidays in search of the sun
in our beautiful house with four walls to keep the weather out

Just you and me keeping company
inside our place and we can procreate
and weï¿½ll build some walls to stop the roof from falling
down on our heads when weï¿½re asleep in bed

And when we go on holiday we always come back
and we felt a bit guilty about the war on Iraq
but we donï¿½t wanna be victims of a terror attack
In our beautiful house with four walls to keep the weather out
Weï¿½d probably better get ourselves a burglar alarm
just in case thereï¿½s any people who would do us some harm
and thereï¿½s a gun in the dresser and a dog in the yard
of our beautiful house with four walls to keep the neighbours out

Just you and me keeping company
inside our place and we can procreate
and weï¿½ll build some walls to stop the roof from falling
down on our heads when weï¿½re asleep in bed
Cos weï¿½ve finally sicked six figures down
and we found ourselves a city and weï¿½re checking it out
and thereï¿½s food on the table and a fire in the hearth
In our beautiful house with four walls to keep the weather out

(Sick of) Playing Solo

Iï¿½m sick of playing solo
Iï¿½m out of the game
Iï¿½m not a virtuoso
Iï¿½m not looking for fame
I need the gaps to be filled in
I miss the pound of the drums
But I just canï¿½t play them
I need other musicians

Cos I donï¿½t wanna drop dead and be an undiscovered great
And have my fanbase be subjected to those fucking awful tapes
That I made when I was fifteen just to satisfy demand
for some new unheard material I really need a band

And with a wash of keyboards
The thud of the bass
all nicely understated
every note in its place
Iï¿½m sick of playing solo
I wanna make some noise
after a perfect chorus
Iï¿½d say ï¿½Take it away boys!ï¿½
(ermï¿½ fuck)

It be nice to feel my stuff was getting recognised for real
Like that headline gig in Brighton where I almost met John Peel
I donï¿½t just wanna be some quirky guy you saw once in the Bay
I wanna see my self-made EPs fetch a packet on eBay

But itï¿½s not gonna happen
unless I get me a band
A bunch of decent musicians
who all think Iï¿½m the man
Itï¿½s not a case of ego
okay well maybe it is
Iï¿½ve just been playing solo
for nearly five years

And I donï¿½t wanna get on stage and say ï¿½hereï¿½s one the drummer wroteï¿½
or get some guy who thinks he Hendrix but canï¿½t really play a note
stick his foot up on the monitor and bore the crowd to tears
with an improvised performance that will feel like it lasts years

Check out my guitar soloï¿½

2 Bullets

2 Bullets nothing to it
two bodies we can do it
we can stop it if we do it
nobodyï¿½s gonna do it yet
Iï¿½m gonna put this thing to bed

Men and women wives and children
you can save them but youï¿½ll kill them
every single other personï¿½s
gonna get a bullet in the head
so Iï¿½ll give you one instead

2 bullets nothing to it
take a picture while I do it
you can see what Iï¿½ll achieve
if I can only get up out of bed
and put a bullet in your head.

O Peter! (wonï¿½t you hear my mournful strum?)

O Peter wonï¿½t you hear my mournful strum?
O Peter wonï¿½t you see what youï¿½ve become?
O Peter wonï¿½t you take my hand and join with me and sing?
and raise your voice in harmony and let those wires ring!

O Peter wonï¿½t you hear my mournful strum?
O Peter wonï¿½t you see what youï¿½ve become?
Your Jingle Jangle bitches they distract you from the truth
Remember how you dug up cricket pitches in your youth?
O pictures of your youthï¿½

O Peter wonï¿½t you hear my mournful groove?
O Peter donï¿½t you want your ass to move?
O Peter wonï¿½t you clench your fists and show me youï¿½re a man?
And stand up and be counted now and do it cos you can
O Peter be a man!

Jabita Nu-Orleenz!

I lost my soul to a life support machine
This is the future of the teenage apocalypse
I have a friend and she calls me mother
What makes you proud of your little brother?

Jï¿½habite ï¿½ New Orleans

I lost my girl to a mobile library
They sold her secrets while she sleep beside me
I gotta speak when I hear the tone
I got the soul of a mobile phone

Jï¿½habite ï¿½ New Orleans

The Memorial Hall

Left to your own devices
You will forget the Memorial Hall
See in the faded newsprint
Thumbs up from the Pals
as they wave us goodbye
Iï¿½ve got a girl back home
I wrote her a letter
I donï¿½t suppose Iï¿½ll get a reply
I only hope sheï¿½ll remember my name

Poppies we buy to remember
They sell to forget in Afghnistan
With our faith in the hands of bricklayers
We know we can sleep deep inside itï¿½s walls
And as I sleep in your hands tonight
and those walls shake with our dancing inside
We understand that our tributes alright
Except that there will be moreï¿½

Now we remember the disco
Theyï¿½re holding tonight at the Memorial Hall
I hope to meet eyes with your sister
As she stands like a flower by a plaque on the wall
But the alcohol kicks in and somehow instead
the words on the plaque just take over my head
I think I shouldnï¿½t be dancing with so many dead
But Iï¿½m wrong

If thereï¿½s a point to the fighting
any point at all
Itï¿½s so we can dance in the Memorial Hall

And if drunkenness leads us to conflict
Supporting the Troops versus Not in my Name
Someone gets bored change the subject
Before I explain how they can be the same
If we donï¿½t get revenge then the Bad Guys have won
If the winners arenï¿½t good guys thatï¿½s what they become
The only point in life is just to have fun
But youï¿½re wrongï¿½

If thereï¿½s a point to the fighting
any point at all
Itï¿½s so we can dance in the Memorial Hall

At the hairdressers

Can you see him in this picture?
Thatï¿½s my husband thatï¿½s my Victor
When I last saw him in our kitchen
He said he was off to see his sister
And I cannot bear to think why he was in that part of town
Cos Everybody knows thatï¿½s where loose women hang around

Now Iï¿½m here at the hairdressers
and Iï¿½m blubbing to a stranger
About a picture in the paper
and I think that thereï¿½s a danger
That Iï¿½ll just shave all my hair off and have a nervous breakdown
You think that you know someone then they go and let you down

My hair has seen better days
I feel so stupid
He kept saying he was working late
And I believed him

So she passes me this picture
of her husband of her Victor
I see now itï¿½s an obituary
Loving father spouse of Mary
Witnesses describe a group departing from the scene
Four young lads just noticed as of ethnic origin

And I feel strangely indifferent
to this hack-job description
Of another tragic victim
Of our failing social system
And I know exactly why they found him in that part of town
It was right on that street corner that I used to hang around

Oh Victor you should be ashamed
How could you do this?
You bought a house to settle down and procreate
What happened to it?

Is it wrong to think?
That this could be
a blessing in diguise
The Eulogy
I must compose
must now consist of lies

My hair has seen better days
I feel so stupid
He kept saying he was working late
And I believed him

So I pick up my Victor
From his babysitter
And I drive past the corner
see the floral tributes
To a well respected member of our small community
And though tongues will wag no one will state it quite explicitly

That he was just pathetic
and I donï¿½t regeret it
That I never said a thing
I never spilled the beans
To anyone whoï¿½d pass it on to Mary and Iï¿½m glad
But I still wonï¿½t know what to say when Victor asks me about his dadï¿½

Harp & Chainsaw

We die laughing
Cars keep crashing
Doors slam violently
And I think
We should look both ways before we
Cross the street
Please donï¿½t ignore me

Forget me not
When you catch up
With that distant flaming tow-truck
We canï¿½t keep up
With your standup
Comedy that belittles us

Yr on my shoulder

Youï¿½re on my shoulder
Every day and every night
Youï¿½re on my shoulder
and itï¿½s to you Iï¿½ve got to justify

Everything I believe
every film that I see
every book that I read
all the food that I eat
every library I join
every march I go on
I feel Iï¿½ve got to justify

Youï¿½re on my shoulder
Every day and every night
Youï¿½re on my shoulder
and itï¿½s to you Iï¿½ve got to justify

Every thought that I think
All the juice that I drink
Every march I go on
Every new decision
Every black friend I make
Every honest mistake
I feel Iï¿½ve got to justify them

Youï¿½re on my shoulder
Every day and every night
Youï¿½re on my shoulder
and itï¿½s to you Iï¿½ve got to justify my life

Goodnight/Nos Da

Goodnight, to all the eye candy that stops me from sleeping
Goodnight, Iï¿½ve got a job to do and you keep on waking me
Cos with your sequins and your secrets and your sister saidï¿½
Youï¿½re sleeping sound inside a silent cell inside your head

Goodnight

Goodnight, to all the nest egg children financial meetings
Goodnight, to all the pretzel bombs the presidents been eating
Cos with a lying heart and empty head heï¿½ll bomb the world
Iï¿½ll drink alcohol and try to stick my fingers in some girl

Goodnight

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.