My words and my poems Are no more than explanations And embellishments My means of expression For my life is my "art" It's what I am and what I write It's why I need to write To make sense of the things I've seen and done And there are times when I think I've done far too much Then, in deep contemplation I realise I could have done more And that kind of inner debate And discussion with myself Are a large part of my life Which becomes my version Of something like "art"
When I was a kid All I ever did Was move my feet To the rockin' beat Listening to the music Each and every day 'Til the rhythm became Part of my DNA
As I grew I talked the talk Then I learned to Walk the walk I never cared For right or wrong All I wanted Was to sing the songs
I came alive When the music soared Loved it more When the crowd all roared And the adrenalin Made me shake Driving fast Without brakes
Now I can only Talk that talk I'm grown so old I can hardly walk Those good old days Are sadly gone This foot soldier Still soldiers on So now that I Have grown too old Rock 'n' roll still Burns my soul
Is it possible to care too much? Even when pieces of hope fall away like parts of a derelict house, yet belief endures. Outside logic's doors deep within the heart and soul I swear, beyond the grave. And so it is no. It's not possible to care too much.
The sheets yet to cool and the sun yet to rise, I've already practiced an easy goodbye– but seeing you wreathed in sheets, sleepy, pleased, feels unkind when you're just a dream I have sometimes.
Wasn't many days ago . we were weaving in the mills . they called our names . ten at a time . and taught us ******* . see that young girl crying . standing on the shore . turn around and wave boys . you'll see her face no more
Sent as rats with thin tin hats . mow us down in rows . here we go together boys . we've no time left to grow . see that young girl crying . standing on the shore . blow a kiss goodbye boys . you wont kiss her anymore .
Taken from the mill towns . left face down in the blood . we never dreamed we'd die boys . but others knew we would . see that young girl waving . standing on her own . turn around and wave boys . we wont be coming home .
Before we all go over boys . one thing they never said . they'll carve our names . ten at a time . among our brothers , dead . see that girl upon the shore . slowly turning round . she'll soon be standing next to you . laying flowers on the ground ..