posted on June 6, 2018 at 9:08 pm

gallery of fast lives

the dark skinned black eyed night came to me as a woman

the seashore was empty

the gulls suddenly divided over my head

I was drunk and dissolute upon these strange sands

she talked in her language of evenings long past

the stars escaped from her curling mouth

the moon backlit her haloed head like a cemetery angel

in the fields a murmuring distant choir

as if rain drops evaporated on us with a gentle ssshhh

in the astral beyond us the 2 strangers kissed

in the opium lips of the night with her tongue of cloud

in the dreamiest kiss before you awake

in the kiss full of love and full of desire

as you’re waking up on a beach under the stars

a kiss full of sea foam and the roar of space

a kiss as you wake up naked and you just appeared

and the smell of the nights neck behind her hair where you belong

behind the wind out of the night where you had wanted to be safe

where you had wanted to fall asleep

where the night wove around you her warmest spell

dissolving the ache in your ear and your poor stabbed eyes

you stumble up the stairs to sleep

where there are no mornings

yeah you feel like a fool your guitar still strapped on

sliding on the deck of a yacht

admiring the Ferrari in the garage

you rushed through the tunnel of lives

under the glow of some other sun

oh the booze was everywhere

and every night a feast

yeah then you were young again and you laughed on the verandah snorting drugs

yeah you wandered down the sea like a fucked up mariner home on leave

you looked like the disaster of an admiral now busted down to an anchor man

all the motels all the aeroplanes all the dinners in restaurants

all the fish in the ocean

all the thoughts in a single brimming brain

music rushing through the sound of the surf

one morning ya wake up in hospital

one morning ya wake up with a pretty girl

one morning ya wake up in a coffin and youre fucking freezing

one morning ya wake up in Stockholm and its snowing

one morning ya wake up in Belgrade and you’re lost

one morning ya wake up washed up at Bronte so you buy a bag of hot chips

one morning ya wake up and its raining but the night stayed over anyway

and every raindrop enters the earth at free fall speed

and every earth revolves around every sun in an expression of devotion

and theres a cup of tea and she hands ya yer phone

and someone somewhere else is ringing ya about some fucking show you gonna do

and ya can’t remember your name and you don’t even want to

and yer mask has cracked good and open and you can’t be bothered watching

sleep is a delicious certainty and you roll the dice with expertise

you don’t have to know anything or do anything

no more practice no more struggle no more thrashing

no more smashing up the detritus the idiot has left behind

the green sea the dark night the silver rain

I remain behind an I will pay my bill

 

 

 

to “colour weal”

  1. avatar
    Gordon from Scotland | 9 June 2018 at 3:33 am #

    Thanks for coming up to Scotland to play. I hope there are plenty of T shirt’s etc. And..I kinda hope you understand that we have missed out on all these tours of classic albums. So, play the new one in full, it is like a concise version of Priest = Aura, and anything else you fancy. Also , I notice you have a solo show coming up. Any chance you can start recording and selling these through your web page. Can the Church not do something similar?
    Stay healthy, and I hope the glorious weather in Glasgow lasts until the 20th.
    Best wishes

  2. kevinbreton
    kevinbreton | 18 July 2018 at 11:24 am #

    The sorrows of men with no song the ages of the loneliness of a bottle. A mermaid sells you freedom from a telephone line. When you got lost in the parade as a child they mistook you for a marching boy with no drum. It was as if the parade was for you somehow. In another sense the parade loved you with a loud hug. No we are never quite alone in this rift of time or space. The particles were never dense enough for it to be so. With the crashing of a cymbal you hid between two forest trees. With the fuerza of a lead guitar you discovered the bolt of lightning that would one day be in all your songs if not the thunders of its echo. Humdrum days of heat led you into the puddle of overcast men swearing by the token of their cigar. Let us live with the dignity of our sorrows some said with the zeal of a forgotten priest that no one could hear any longer. The cover ups of majesty and triumphs. The censorship of true loves. The demystification of all the realms of beauty. Let the children learn the guitar riffs. Let them feel the sun on their faces in the winter cold. For one day they shall present a grander melody. Trust…. Learn….


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