גת שמנים

In the garden of Gethsemane
hiding ‘neath the Olive tree.
I waited there for you,
I waited there to see.

See my crucifixion’s imminent
whilst yours is in the past,
a space no one can fill
in a part no one is cast.

On a hillside in Judea,
at the bottom of the mount.
In the garden of Gethsemane
my truth did find you out.

But the sentiment was mutual,
for never did you show.
I’ll never waste my time again
waiting for my faith to grow.

In the garden of Gethsemane
beside the Olive tree.
I waited there for days
so why did you forsake me?

One more before I go

Late night drinking got me cornered,
I'm a hunters willing pray.
Shoot me down with beer and whiskey
on my back I'll surely lay.

Give me one last drink to heal me
and I'll settle up my bill.
One more drink before I'm homeward,
one before I seek my thrill.

One last dram to bid a farewell
and I'll doff my cap to you.
One more drink in these small hours,
one last drink to see me through.

Shoot me down with beer and whiskey
and I'll settle up my bill.
One more drink in these small hours
just to stop me feeling ill.

Shadows

Flickering streams of sun erupt
through the stained glass window,
here to illuminate the ashen outer casing
that shrouds the soul and inner workings.

Bathed in shimmering blues and glamorous greens,
a pale imitation of someone I once knew.
Like dust, dreams drift through rays of sunlight and
fall into everlasting shadows, cast asunder.

A moment in the spotlight, quickly is gone.
15 minutes of fame ended abruptly
and the camera’s hadn’t even started rolling.
You didn’t even hear the curtain call.

Cast in the lead role
without time to get ready in make-up
or get your costume and pout on.
No standing ovation, no encore.

It’s much too late to chase the colours
that fall away and disappear into the carpet,
vanishing into the past, forever gone.
Is this how you thought it would end?

Did you hope for something more?

Mongrel

Mongrels don’t give a shit ‘cause they’re happy
They roam around the estates and care for nothing,
and no-one. Never do you a bad turn like.

If one of ‘em wants to shag your leg they will,
and any leg will do. They eat anything you feed ‘em,
even curries and kebabs.

Not like your pedigrees, miserable as sin.
They don’t have any fun and they’re always fucking ill and angry.
So how does that make them superior?

They’re only allowed to shag their own breed
and definitely no legs. They only eat what they’re told they can
and certainly no foreign food.

I’m glad I’m a mongrel.