When I was still young and fresh
A million years ago
I walked on edges
Always on the edge of something
Something wild

Bright lights and long nights
Lots of laughter and music
Always music
Singing with the band
Dodging the flying glass
When fights broke out
Howling to the moon
Oh, wild indeed were we

All shadows now, alas
Visions from an addled brain
Pubs, clubs and smoky dumps
Leave no turn unstoned was the cry
More fun than fundamental
And fundamentally flawed, it was
A couple of hours sleep 'fore the day job
With eye-lids stuck together
And walking into walls
But still I wouldn't have swapped it
For all the strait laced straight faced
Wealth in the world

                                 By Phil Roberts

Hey, old friend
Remember the days?
The times we got so drunk we could barely crawl
What a laugh!
Other nights we'd be so wired
We chewed our lips to shreds
Way back in the day

And do you remember that opiated Nepalese
While the rest were throwing up or falling down
We kept right on smoking
'Til we could barely find our feet
Or remember our names
Haha!

And then tripping out at Fool's Nook
Thinking the water in the stream was diamonds
And chasing a butterfly that we thought was rare
The mushrooms weren't so magic if you got a bad one
But wasn't it fun!

Going to dodgy Manchester pubs for the draw
Haha, remember that night I nearly got myself shot?
I've never talked so fast in all my life
And now that age has caught up with us
Where are we now, old friend?
You're dead and I'm falling to bits
Such fun
Back in the day

                            By Phil Roberts

In the high sky
Where the air is weak
And full of strangers
Nothing lives for long
Only gypsy-footed drifters
Come here on their way
To who knows where

And this place can only be reached
Without anchor or rudder
Nor even a moral compass
Riding on clouds of smoke
And it's such a long way down
Through falling-about laughter
And blood in the gutter
To the hungry crushing ground

                                              By Phil Roberts

With his head in his hands
And his heart on his sleeve
He closes his eyes against the light of day
And against his quiet despair
He pretends it is not real

But part of him knows
Deep down amongst half-remembered dreams
Emotions that appear from nowhere
And linger
Every cell of him knows

He knows a loss without closure
A conversation without words
Dreams without endings
And hoping without hope

He hears a knock on the door
But no-one walks in
He puts his head in his hands
And his heart on his sleeve
He pretends it is not real

                                           By Phil Roberts

Some girls
Have butterflies
Beautiful winged elegance
Flying through their cerebrums

Me?

I've got old ghosts
That turn into whiskey drunk monsters
Saying
"I should put a bullet
In your brain".

I saw him yesterday.
Standing in front of me.
Blowing his brains out
Over and over.

A movie stuck on repeat
In my brain.

And some small part
Of me
Hopes he does it.
So he doesn't come after me
Anymore.

Maybe
The monster is me.

There are sweet dreams which sometimes lead
To sadness and pain which sometimes bleed
Into a strange and eerie beauty
Causing the heart and soul to swell
Hovering between heaven and hell
And the deepest shade of blue
Rolls over the infinite truth
Of the sensitivity of being

                                       By Phil Roberts

Do not dream too loudly
You may awaken your conscience

                                        By Phil Roberts