hello friend my old darkness

unable to apply myself properly

i sit here at this glass table in seaside suburbia

a full moon on the highway

listening to lisa gerrard

the closest thing we got to some ancient music i guess

sometimes she sounds like a mad prophetess from delphi

othertimes she sounds like a widow mourning her man

solemn n sombre wordless n wonderful

the light in my kitchen has blown

like my mind

outrageous fucking fortune and all that stuff

i’m a sleepwalker in a real dream

chuck me my axe chuck me my groupie

chuck me my cheque

speeding down phantom americas 13 lane highways

cruising up to a gig

its snowing its summer its sold out its empty

what does it matter

i thought you were there

yeah i’m dressed in faded black tat

my bass is all sunburst red n yellow

my skin is kinda tanned n freckly brown

my new crowns are white

my old eyes are grey

are ya nervous? you ask and i laugh

in reality i dont even know if i am or not

i am severed from my true feelings somehow

i been on tour for a million years and i love/hate it

wanna stop cant stop never stop

a plane here

a bus there

a taxi to the east village squire

a lift back to my hotel yeah thanks

amsterdam seattle tim buck two

chuck some stuff in a suitcase

message for me at front desk

god that man in the mirror looks so old

my throat is sore and my voice is hoarse

poor pity me living this stupid dream

champagne in the fridge

chocolates on the bed

drugs en route

music in my blood

i take out my book n scribble down some words

i fiddle round with my sequencer

i fuck about with the envelope of some cellos

but as i said i cant apply myself

some people turn up for a party in next doors room

noisy bastards i bang on the bleeding wall

muse : what year is this?

chick : are you nervous?

captain : the  fasten seatbelts sign is now switched off

hostess : tea or coffee

person at door : hey steve open up !

roadie : should i change your strings tonight?

manager : dont fucking keep complaining….

agent : sorry man it wasnt my fault…

bloke : would you mind signing this ….?

i toss n turn under the sheets

its freezing its boiling theres a mozzie biting me

theres a wild storm outside

im all alone i’m having an orgy

i dive into the warm blue rooftop pool

donnette sits on a deckchair

i watch her from under the water

she has on a one piece black swim suit

shes reading a newspaper n occasionally chuckling at stuff

shes drinking a beer n smoking a cloves cigarette

we’re in bangkok on holiday i guess

we got a real luxury room in some place

we go out riding around in tuk-tuks

no i must be in australie its new years eve at the surf air hotel

ploogy bashing on the kit yet to turn twenty

we share an apartment on the 23rd floor

we chuck silverware into the pool

and we stay up all night listening to pet sounds

we play these gigs to the holidaymakers

who fucking cares…..its 1981 aint it

aeons ago in some innocent past

we have a meeting and i fall asleep

yeah yeah whatever i say

do whatever you bloody like

someone gives me a book to read

its not too bad i read a bit on the plane

we hit the runway and i roll over in bed

i tune up my bass between songs

some girl in the front row is making eye contact with me n smiling

she chucks a note up on the stage

a roadie runs up n grabs it n reads it n smirks

he hands it over and the song starts up

i’m caught short and i miss the intro

the others frown at me

but the audience dont care or notice

i’m feeling wild and loose and devious and nauseous

i feel like having a fucking argument with some bastard

my dinner was a shambles

always some new tedious irksome problem

some oversight i underestimated

i juggle all my compartmentalised components

i am everything to everyone in my own stupid head

but on the outside i am a deeply floored human being

some boor cornering me as the prize gets ready to leave

the phone rings by my bed

steven?

its australia on the line

oh australia, i’d forgotten all about it

yeah i had faded into this tour

i had no future no past

i was on this plane in this hotel bed at this gig

i stand in a line at customs

outside the smoky haze of an italian sky

i got an italian girlfriend for a week

we dont really know what the other ones on about

but boy she can laugh and drink vino and smoke hashhish

she rides around on a white vespa too

me sitting on the back as we whizz round roma

i met her outside the tv station

steeeev steeeeeev she was calling to me

she said she was a student

but i couldnt understand what she was supposed to be studying

she was like a cartoon to me

someone thrown together for my dream

ok bring on the italian girl

i was staying at the fucking hilton too

the rome hilton it was 1986

the lap of luxury

anything you wanted

interviews lunches

a long afternoon sleep

some gig at night

this ones called myrrh

how can you be so invisible

gimme the nerves to see

marty whips up a storm with his e-bow

back at the hotel the italian girl does a dance for me

as we listen to a cassette of the byrds in my room

i just stretch back in my green suede boots like an emperor

the eleven year old canberra boy is gawking out

but i think i look like terence stamp in some 60s film

i’m jaded urbane and out of it

banga pearson is in the room next door our tour manager

i can hear laughter and loud voices

five minutes later he rings up

kilbey come in here we got a party  he says

i got my own party i say n hang up

the next day my head is aching

we fly somewhere bloody else

our rooms arent ready when we arrive

and i throw a wobbler cos i’m so fucking unbelievably tired

i just need to got to get some sleep

i strap on my axe backstage and drink some champers

my hair looks kinda stupid today

and i forgot to have a shave

my throat is extra sore and i cant even remember where we are

i met an airline hostess and invited her here and i wonder if she came

i’m waiting on some weed to arrive from somewhere

i just had an argument with some local tosser

my axe feels like it weighs fifty tons around my scrawny shoulders

my ears are starting to permanently ring

i didnt get any sleep cos the phone kept ringing

then they were doing construction next door

then i was too angry to sleep

the gig is a bit of a fiasco

but i can see the airline hostess smiling at me up on a balcony

i ponce about on stage a bit for her benefit

but after the gig shes disappeared

i berate banga pearson for letting her go

mate he says

i cant stop people leaving a gig…..!

i must have nodded off again

we’re driving down a street in queenslands gold coast

in a ford ltd

bangas driving

how much longer now someone asks

banga drives along smoking a spliff

another hour i reckon he says

we all groan

my throat is sore

are you at all nervous says some goodlooking woman as i go on

nope i say to myself

i’m in bed

i’m still on a plane

i got lost in the snow

i’m wasted in the heat

i sit at my glass table in bondi

are you nervous says one of the children

my throat is so sore

my fingers all callused

what? i say

and i carry on typing in the semi darkness