Fearing our babies tainted blood, with every new restart
To Leave Something Behind, By Sean Rowe. Lyrics
I cannot say that I know you well
But you can’t lie to me with all these books that you sell
I’m not trying to follow you to the end of the world
I’m just trying to leave something behind
Words have come from men and mouse
But I can’t help thinking that I’ve heard the wrong crowd
When all the water is gone my job will be too
And I’m trying to leave something behind
Oh money is free but love costs more than our bread
And the ceiling is hard to reach
Oh the future ahead is broken and red
But I’m trying to leave something behind
This whole world is a foreign land
We swallow the moon but we don’t know our own hand
We’re running with the case but we ain’t got the gold
Yet we’re trying to leave something behind
My friends I believe we are at the wrong fight
And I cannot read what I did not write
I’ve been to His house, but the master is gone
But I’d like to leave something behind
There is a beast who has taken my brain
You can put me to bed but you can’t feel my pain
When the machine has taken the soul from the man
It’s time to leave something behind
Oh money is free but love costs more than our bread
And the ceiling is hard to reach
Oh the future ahead is already dead
So I’m trying to leave something behind
I got this feeling that I’m still at the shore
And pockets don’t know what it means to be poor
I can get through the wall if you give me a door
So I can leave something behind
Oh wisdom is lost in the trees somewhere
You’re not going to find it in some mental gray hair
It’s locked up from those who hurry ahead
And it’s time to leave something behind
Oh money is free but love costs more than our bread
And the ceiling is hard to reach
When my son is a man he will know what I meant
I was just trying to leave something behind
I was just trying to leave something behind
Happy “Independence Day” to my American friends, I suppose this is an appropriate day/time to repost this previous poem of mine, and beware as your party’s are moving into full swing
It was the fourth of July
The party seems to be finished
Wondering how long I dozed off for
Most of my friends have gone
A few bodies left, laying on the floor
Best I have a piss before I go
Now where’s that bathroom
Whoops, there’s a girl in here
Dressed all in blue, and she’s on the floor
Slouched in the corner, not moving
Her skins “a whiter shade of pale” *
Red lip-stick all askew
Then I see myself in the mirror
Agape, my white shirt’s moist and filthy
Splattered, deep dark red
Oh no ! It’s human blood
I turn the crumpled girl over
Her pretty blue dress, covered in blood too
What’s happened, I can’t remember
Only blurry images of red white and blue
My mind goes numb
And my legs start running
Out of here in a hurry
“Thump”, I trip over
I thought that bloke was asleep
I didn’t notice at first
His red shirt’s also oozing out blood
Holy hell, he’s dead too
I’m stumbling through the front door
Grappling, panicking, now where
Where do I flee to.
Think ! Yes, a nearby Church
Has an early dawn service
A sanctuary for my burning fears
And bumbling into the Church I go
Settling upon the nearest pew
I’m white as a ghost and turn to see who’s beside me
An eerily stunning red-haired girl
Wearing a dress of red white and blue
Memory flashes back, it’s Her, from the party
She’s staring at me now, with livid red and white eyes
I see fangs protruding over her blue lips
Dribbling fresh blood, hissing at me
She gurgles, “Did I miss one”
The Filia Sanguine suddenly grabs my arm
And her dark-blue fingernails dig deep
I’m seized, I’m gone, I know
There’s no safe haven here
“Where do you go to my lovely”**
Screaming tears of red white and blue
Ivor Steven (c) 2018
* A Whiter Shade Of Pale, Procol Hurum song Title 1967.
**Where Do You Go To My Lovely, Peter Sarstedt song Title 1969
