See the head bowed See the furrowed brow Hear the boys cry See the haunted eyes See the fingertips See the fingertips Blood for pop Blood for pop Wind it tighter Pay the piper Call it heartfelt Feel the hearts melt See the fingertips See the fingertips Blood for pop Blood for pop Track and feel Two inch reel (too real) We’re all needing To see you bleeding Don’t stop No no don’t stop Blood for pop Blood for pop

You get in, she says, I’ll set up the camera. All you have to do is, pretend to be me. Why are we laughing? Do we think it’s funny Now look over your shoulder Two sets of clothes folded on the chair Two pairs of boots, mud on the floor There’s a hammering, hammering on the door Look over your shoulder We laugh and we laugh Late at night, the boys pass round the picture It’s not much but it’s all you can get at school Tries to forget what they’re doing with her They laugh and they laugh We can laugh but we can’t forget what we’ve seen But we can at least try to scrub ourselves clean Put our clothes back on, we’ve seen enough bodies To last a lifetime Take these boots and wipe them on the carpet Take all these pictures, burn them on the fire Take all these memories and throw them Over your shoulder We laugh and we laugh And she says to the boy, how dare you ask me Why I do these things - because I do. I don’t know who you are, don’t say you love me We laugh and we laugh

© JH 2018

And the band, henceforth group, played on. Hauled up in a dumb waiter, Health and Safety approved, ranting, chanting, slurring, blurring the line between sense and prejudice, our hero, henceforth OH, rises, eyes darting right to left, left to right; one withered hand strapped to the chair as if electric. The end, the end is literally nigh. Middle aged punters, male, formative years much formed by aforesaid OH, cheer briefly, assuming theatrical ploy. They see the rodent cheeks, the visible fucking agony, the two microphones positioned to allow OH to fidget and manoeuvre himself into position of least pain whilst still vocalising, and gasp. And the group played on. Riff number one: bass-led, guitars trace double-helix pattern, its DNA of German/Lancastrian CA ancestry producing regular and these days planned dissonance. OH wheeled across boards by wife/kyb, b.voc. Sober-haired hired hands, suntanned arms beneath untorn sleeves. Planned dissonance. Seconds of eloquence as diamorphine permits. False teeth provide added bite. Hell to pay, hell to pay for. Where once OH paced, now slides down the chair, plants feet on boards and rocks, fractured, enraptured, if only. Out on the Merch desk, mirthfully self-identified hobgoblins lay out apparel, yellow vinyl, silver discs and check for 4G, re: Mobile Pay. Cash tins open for punters of Luddite sensibility. Cold imperial measure in plastic glass imbibed. The group plays on, muffled by fire doors. Planned dissonance. A steady stream exit. Disgruntled and/or lachrymose, pause at Merch desk to recall lank-haired pretender, oddly delicate of feature, part-formed; then newly-polished spokesman in the Colin/AH Wilson vein, US wife/gtr, b.voc., unwonted solutions to planned dissonance - cf. No Bulbs. Both incarnations available on 180g vinyl with shirt XXL. Riff number two: bodiddley skip, unselfconscious, blues accidentals permitted, if accidental. Why dissonance? Why plan? Middle-class revolting suspects fear of naked written word. Anyone can bark, we say. OH says: you try, see if your bark gets anywhere near this one’s bite. That was months ago. Later, and on the edge of an industrial estate, briefly in opioid sleep, OH cannot hear the voice of replicants in Schindler’s lift. Cannot ask what the fuck. Not that it was ever any better, he might have added. Wife/non-NHS carer pushes, clicks and holds door, aids, unzips, unbuttons, lifts immobile arm, places dictaphone near face for easy access to brain. Capturing all that might escape in these last days. Damned dissonance.

Have you felt Nibiru coming nearer? No you haven’t, it’s just the drugs I’m the manifestation of Shiva Oh shut up, it’s just the drugs In a past life I was a tribal elder No you weren’t, it’s just the drugs The pain of the world rests on my shoulders No it doesn’t, it’s just the drugs It’s just the drugs Paul McCartney is a stand-in No he’s not, it’s just the drugs Same goes for Hilary Clinton No it doesn’t, it’s just the drugs Angela Merkel is a lizard No she’s not, it’s just the drugs The truth is out there… is it? Errrrrrm.… it’s just the drugs It’s just the drugs They’re poisoning us with vaccines No they’re not, it’s just the drugs They’re manipulating everybody’s brains Fat chance, it’s just the drugs Fluoridisation is mind control No it’s not, it’s just the drugs They give us drugs to make us docile If you like, but it’s just the drugs ... I can feel quantum energies No you can’t, it’s just the drugs Blah blah blah Jewish conspiracies Fuck off, it’s just the drugs Humans are genetically engineered No we’re not, it’s just the drugs We all need to live in fear No we don’t, it’s just the drugs I.T.S.J.U.S.T.T.H.E.D.R.U.G.S. Oh yes, oh yes They’re breeding out the white race No they’re not, it’s just the drugs Illuminati and the deep state False flags?! It's just the drugs That screaming child is a crisis actor No she’s not, it’s just the drugs When did you become such a heartless bastard? I hope it’s just the drugs

When you're not the kind to ever set a girl’s heart ablaze You just have to wait around until they’ve made all their mistakes When the ones that they still dream about Have done their stuff and gone away You’re making up the numbers Making up the numbers So you say If you say you never understood, you never realised That this is all there ever was, this is paradise It’s not her fault if you didn’t know And now you’re paying the price You’re making up the numbers Making up the numbers That’s the choice You wanted to be equals But you’re not really there There’s nothing left to add No circle to be squared Nothing still to factor in Nothing to compare That’s the root of your troubles? To be fair, If you took yourself away, do you Think that anyone would care? You’re making up the numbers out of thin air. There’s nowhere to be discovered, there are no pastures new She knows the ways she likes it and she thinks that you do too She decided to settle down And so she settled for you You’re making up the numbers Making up the numbers That’s the truth Making up the numbers Is all you can do Making up the numbers

By the time that the drink was drunk I was still on my feet Beer must have been too bitter Wine must have been too sweet By the time that the drink was drunk All I had was an empty cup With nowhere to fill it up The boat was already sunk By the time that the dance was done I was still in my seat Must not have heard the rhythm Must not have felt the beat By the time that the dance was done I was a flower on the wall Cinderella at the ball When the twelve bells had rung You can’t buy the time There’s no time left to be bought One more glass of wine And give it your best shot If you’re struggling for a rhyme Chuck in an afterthought By the time the song was sung I was clearing my throat I hadn’t opened the piano And I hadn’t sung a note By the time the song was sung I wanted another verse Time won’t go in reverse So open up your lungs You can’t buy the time…

Last night, I’m over at my boys house that he shares with this girl and two kids under five. He hands me a Spanish beer, and says: “I’ve got something that’s been preying on my mind.” I said: “Son, there is nothing in this world That I won’t do for you,” but his lip just curled, and he said: “Ever since I got home, I’ve been dying of the cold I look in the mirror and I just look old I didn’t expect the streets to be paved with gold But when you’ve seen the things I have And done what I’ve done You deserve at least something, don’t you? Outside they’re yelling on the street And kicking the parked cars Can’t understand a word they speak And I’m watching the front door Can’t think of anyone I’d want To be knocking on the door I don’t know anyone still hanging on from the old days any more Snow’s starting to settle It’s as cold as it ever gets Outside, lovers hold each other Unexpected tenderness.” The boy says: “how did I ever put up with this freezing cold? Whatever happened to summer - Has the summer been sold? I look in the mirror and I just look old I didn’t expect the streets to be paved with gold But when you’ve seen the things I have And done what I’ve done You deserve at least something, don’t you?”

I’m on the far side of the stories that I’m used to hearing There’s an old man with a temper who keeps reappearing There’s a young male lead Who’s troubled and deep The very picture of a man Whom no one understands “It’s the old, old story,” my old man used to say Before adding it had all gone to pot since his day But here I am again Saying things he can’t defend The very picture of unfair So let’s leave it there Time will shift the sands The future’s in your hands, I can guarantee, one day you will be The one who’s been right all along But for now I’m the one singing this song. How you know things to be is not what everybody sees It’s a mystery to me when I started being like me You can rest assured It’s written on the board The very picture of me Is what you’re going to be You can argue with me until you’re blue in the face Then I’ll be gone and it’ll all be too late It’ll pass to you and yours As a matter of course The very picture of you Is what they’ll turn into

She’d throw it all in For a wooden house in New Zealand On the South Island Where the wind blowing across the ocean Will take your breath away And she’d go any day. She says she can’t breathe The air we have in England She says it’s a disease This material life we’re leading It takes our souls away That’s the sort of thing she says Now she swears just like a sailor Then she turns away and laughs She’s got all the information Complete with photographs And the worst thing is, you’re wondering If she has got a point Now the nights are cold But you’ve always got each other Well you need to know If it’s enough just to be lovers Or should you tell her to run To the South Island? To the wooden house in New Zealand

A holiday, a high holiday On Easter day it’s said Little Matty Groves awoke in Lord and Lady Arnold’s bed. He felt a hand upon his chest And fat lips kiss his head He felt a hot breath on his neck. “Pray who are you?” he said. Lord Arnold said to Matty Groves “You now damned well my name And if you look upon my face You’ll see it hung in shame.” *** “Hang your head or hold it high, You have that luxury You are the great Lord Arnold And I’m just a serving boy.” Then came the creaking of a door And steps upon the stairs The voice of Lady Arnold, Crying: “Husband, are you there?” “Dear God, my lady’s back from church And I’m sure she’s not alone I should be out in the far corn field Bringing the yearlings home. *** Get up, get up!” Lord Arnold cried, “Get up as quick as you can Or it’ll be said in fair England That I knew a naked man.” Lady Arnold, she burst in With a page boy at her side “Oh husband, this cannot be true, You’ve wronged me so,” she cried. “True it is, my darling wife, But spare me your harsh words.” Meanwhile he was reaching for His two long beaten swords. *** The Lady was too quick for him She grabbed one beaten sword And with one blow, she killed Matty Groves Then turned to face her Lord She slashed across her husband’s chest And hurt Lord Arnold sore But he stabbed her right through the heart The Lady struck no more And to the page, Lord Arnold said “Tell me what you just saw. And don’t forget what’s in my hands These two long beaten swords.” **** “My lord, my lord,” the page boy said “No one will believe Your Lady killed little Matty Groves They’ll fain blame you, my liege.” Then take my horse, young servant boy And take a bag of gold Ride out and tell a sorry tale How Matty did me cuckold And how in rage I struck him dead And how my lady mourned And how I then killed her as well Beware the noble scorned

I was walking down the High Street Minding my own I was wearing my stetson ‘Cause of the midday sun Somebody started laughing Saying: “Hey, look at that. He must be a cowboy Cause he’s in a cowboy hat.” Now if I’d had a six-gun I might have told him: “Draw.” Or I could have ridden off But I don’t have a horse Snakeskin boots, leather chaps Or a lash lariat. Don't call me a cowboy Just because I wear a hat Don’t put me in the saddle To ride out on the range I don’t want to live on whisky and bacon and beans The frontier’s not the kind of place Where I want to be at Don't call me a cowboy Just because I wear a hat Don’t call me a hangman Just because I’ve got a rope Don’t call me an scientist It’s just a microscope I’m not a priest, a politician Nor an aristocrat And don't call me a cowboy Just because I wear a hat I’m not from Oklahoma Abilene or Great Bend I’m not from the state of Texas Down by the Rio Grande I’m not even American Let me tell you flat Don't call me a cowboy Just because I wear a hat Don’t put me in the saddle To ride out on the range I don’t want to live on whisky and bacon and beans The frontier’s not the kind of place Where I want to be at Don't call me a cowboy Just because I wear a hat The flies are all buzzing There’s dust on the trail Got my head down, listening For the rattle on the rail I’m dozing in the sun Like a calico cat But don’t call me a cowboy Just because I wear a hat Meanwhile in the old town They’re waiting on a train Tumbleweeds are tumbling The preacher prays for rain The sun’s burning down Casting shadows so black The place is full of cowboys And they’re all in cowboy hats Don’t put me in the saddle To ride out on the range I don’t want to live on whisky and bacon and beans The frontier’s not the kind of place Where I want to be at Don't call me a cowboy Just because I wear a hat