Rye whiskey is my long lost lover.
Though we break apart as I
Enjoy the fruits of wine and bitter,
In those dark hours of the morn I’ll return
To that gold that tastes sweeter.
We’ll meet again as old friends,
And I’ll keep drinking it until the end.
Rye whiskey is my long lost lover.

Rye whiskey is my long lost lover.
It heats the room in its glow,
It makes the band sound sweeter
And my baby sound softer
While the drums of my heart beat louder.
It takes all my troubles away
And puts them in a corner for another day.
Rye whiskey is my long lost lover.

Rye whiskey is my long lost lover.
It leaves me on the roadside
To make my own way in the night,
And chastises me in the morning
When I didn’t kiss her goodnight.
And in my dreams it flows through my head
And gallops every moment when I’ve left my bed.
Rye whiskey is my long lost lover.

We’ve come to this fork in the road, divided by tunnels,
As the lights come blaring down we’re caught in this struggle.
Right or left – apart or together?
Do we accept our fate or continue to endeavour
Down a road we both know isn’t really working?
As every day goes by it feels more like a circus.
Going round in circles, performing for the front row
While the theatre is emptying and it’s our closing show.

Do they know with every smile and cheer
It only makes it even clearer
To us that we are not who we thought we were?
And after every night of passion that occurs
That stagnates in biology,
Rather than combine us spiritually,
We turn away from one another with the of shame
Drained of lust, replaced by this awful pain.

Now I know there were good times, I’m not saying there wasn’t,
But they seem so distant and repulsive. I know it shouldn’t
Make me feel like that, I should look back and smile
But too many mornings have gone and I’m too many miles
Away from where I should be. Though I’m not sure where to go.
Bound this close to someone doesn’t allow me time to grow,
We both can’t be our best when we’re locked on the same course,
While we’re fighting against the wind and some divine force.

We’ve come to this fork in the road
Where the questions to answers remain unknown,
And behind the past seems as dark and tiresome.
Now the lights have gone out and I’ve lost track of the breadcrumbs.
So do we link hands and wade into the mire,
Or forever part in a blaze of broken promises and fire?
Do we stick to the lie just to make our lives easier,
Or be true to ourselves and begin to see things clearer?

I guess it was about time I told you
...here it goes.

You are as cool as a soft morning breeze
On the fringes of spring.
Every caress of air envelops me and
Kisses me gently until I submit
And forget about the world.

You probably don't want to hear this
But you are cheap. You are as cheap as a two
for one deal in dominos.
I feel guilty for a while but it's so good
So I don't care.

You make me forget about the guilt
And in the best way possible
You're value for money.

Being with you is as easy as
Slipping into a pair of old shoes.
I know every crease and stain and
Imperfection in them. Just as I know
Everything about you.
Nothing fits me better than you.
Those shoes will be mine forever
Just as I hope you will.
Putting them on will only become easier.

You are as mad as Van Gogh's lost ear.
Unique and a piece of genius
The emotional honesty and truth that pours
From everything you do is enough to
Enrapture generations and yet I alone am witness.
You are beautiful but neither smooth nor clear.
Your beauty is rough and textured
Like Van Gogh's brush strokes on a canvas.

To say your voice is sharp may appear to be an insult
But believe when I tell you isn't.
Your voice is as sharp as a rapier cutting through
The ******* and small talk.
You get to what matters and open me up
You guide me through. I can't do it by
Myself.

Your smile is as bright as the sun
At noon on a summers day.
It hang high and shines down on me
It touches the darkest places of my soul
And brings them into the light to heal.
It's a struggle but the heat I feel is enough
To keep me going on.

That's enough for now
You deserve so much more but you are quite the egomaniac.

It’s the sound of peeling wallpaper,
Damp seeping in from the frost bitten windows.
Daytime traffic on Christmas eve,
And misted breath between pages of Pound,
Eliot and Rimbaud.

It’s the sound of mouldy drapes,
Clutched to the rail that clings to the rust.
The hiss and crackle of today,
And the wave of the colonial - of Guthrie,
Williams and Seeger.

It’s the sound of a Tangier typewriter,
Clacking to the chimes of a generation.
The scrawl of freedom
And the echoes of our fathers – of Kerouac,
Ginsberg and Burroughs.

It’s the sound of the swamp,
A hoodoo beat winding through the ruins.
From bayous to boroughs,
Following the march of Washington,
Franklin and Jefferson.

It’s the anthem of a teenage disease,
The force of the Devil’s crossroads.
The returning of a light, obscured
In the ruins of time.
It’s the song of the tambourine,
And the lasting footsteps of a song and dance man.

I scour my body with worn out eyes.
Touch myself with broken fingers,
Choke my soul until I feel no life
And live for those moments before I stop breathing.

Through hallowed breath I say nothing.
Learning to love others as much as myself,
For they know not a touch as sweet as mine
Nor do they see anything that I am seeing.

Riding 'round the world where the chase is never,
Oh to be back in a land of *****, *** and worn leather.

Homeless, cold and hungry.
One voice gripped a frozen heart,
Along the open road on winter nights.

'Twas then a starry sky.
She stood between the visionary,
And the foundation of the realised.

Vision can go about unnoticed.
Never seen but by the prophet.
The prophet? The prophet is under his bones.

A prophet has the winter nights,
A pyramid on the desert sand.

On an open road they look at him.
Gripped by a frozen heart,
The homeless, the cold and the twisted unnoticed.