I have written Lyrics since my time in The Mekons (1976-82). Those shown here are more recent, but have no current home, if you are interested in them do let me know. Contact: whitemarkarts@gmail.com
They are subject to the usual rules of copyright
I took me down to the river
I took myself down to the river
and I washed me down
the water came over my Hunters
I haven’t seen sight of him yet
I stood at the crossroads at midnight
In terror, guitar in my hand
I wished for the tunes of the devil
I get little songs about guilt
I chant for meaning at sunrise
I turn at dawn to the East
I doze to the sky getting lighter
And wake to the taste of bad teeth
I‘ve chased God down the nave
Tried to take him up the aisle
Can’t get no tendency to deprave
it should stick out by a mile
I walk along past a heritage sign
14 martyrs were burned right here
Can a non believer have a sense of sin?
want to kill fellow sons of Abraham?
I’ve seen saints in a painting
A blue eyed god in the sky
The sky is grey, visibility poor
A better forecast goes Sailing By
Want to remove unresting death?
Look no further than the Trinity
Sign up here for the loyalty card
Buy one god and get two free
Unlike the cat in the box
You are either dead or you’re not
Is this tale of greed and power
Really the best you’ve got?
I took myself down to the river
and I washed me down
But the water came over my Hunters
and I haven’t seen sight of him yet.
Chorus
I’m waiting to see Christ in a pizza,
His mother in a doughnut ring
Every time I ride to the river
I get nothing more than wet
Mechanic wanted
I’ve spent my time by the side of the road
Trying to fix the gears on a slipping heart.
I’ve watched happy families driving by
Mr Bun the baker and his car full of smiles.
No loud lament for eternal love
Just drizzle drizzle on the roof
And the squeak of wipers on the screen
Like me they’re old and none too smooth.
No loud lament for eternal love
just squeaking rubber and not quite rain
No croaking cry to a god above
A defective vehicle on tow again
The caravan I towed contained no love
Just a little bit of sadness and a sense of loss
We’ve been to Misery says the sticker on the screen
Along with the National Trust and Camberwick Green
Down along the bypass, to the end of the road
You don’t turn right and you don’t turn left,
The end of love is not speaking at all
From Hangar Lane to the M6 Toll
Families like nations are not built on truth
Our little white lies went slowly black
When I said I’ve stopped drinking
She found the bottles and never came back
Chorus
There’s no kiss at the turn of a mile
My curiosity ran out, after a while
I hit sorrow in all four gears
My little deuce coupe just made out of tears.
Blake’s Lament (Walking Back to Happiness)
I stood here once to watch the river
Now I sit to watch the cars.
Every thumb stroke marks the numbers
Mind forged manacles just flow on down
John Clare wrote I can’t forget,
walking up the Great North Road.
Chewing grass and eating sadness
To see the grave of his first girl
John Constable takes the scenic route,
painting greens in a Sainsbury’s row.
Francis Bacon strokes meat on offer
Sliding swiftly down to the casino
I walked with Diggers on St Georges Hill,
walk don’t walk on Kinder Scout.
Saw convoys beaten on the Beanfield
And miners broken on Orgreave Plain
The sky is blue as Ford Orion
When I input movement on my PDA
In my dying dreams of innocence
I see no visions in the darksome air.
Chorus:
I saw angels at Peckham Rye
Though father beat me for telling lies.
Angels in a tree at Peckham Rye
South Circular going down to the M25
Not in my name (or, not if but when)
When we said goodbye at the depot
She wore a pack apon her back.
She was older, we were sadder,
The girl looked nothing like a military man.
When I watched the leader’s new speech
He wore a black suit apon his back.
Smiling down to 600 cities
Slaughtering thousands with simple faith
When I took the text from her captain
Sending back her military pack.
Our dear daughter ‘neath the sun,
Was never, ever coming back.
When I sit in the pub by the station
An old mac is wet apon my back.
All those clever hopes for the nation,
Left me crying and no plan of attack.
When Adam found the body of Abel
That pain won’t go back into the sack.
The first father outliving his child,
Another little one never coming back.
I hear her mother in my head
See a cap badge and a wedding ring
All she said was:
Not in my Name
Not in my Name etc
Saul on the road
I’m pissed with all this walking
Riding out a rail on dirty sand
I’m hot, I’m tired, I’m sober
I’m out collecting taxes for the man.
Then some bastard sticks his hand from the sky
Say’s he’s the truth, the light and the way
Well Damascus you can fuck off
I vote circus, I vote money, I vote girls.
So I little heart heaven
In the beginning the word, the text
though I still need a drink or three
and a cutie in a too small vest
And the man with the hand says this high
I jump and I jump and I jump
And the man with the hand has my mobile
I worship him from on high
I’m just here in the Vatican
waiting for the best to happen
Taxes come in from far and wide
I voted circus, I voted money, I voted girls
Then some bastard sticks his hand from the sky
Says he’s the truth, the light and the way
Well Damascus you can fuck off
I vote circus, I vote money, I vote girls.
Chorus
But Oh Lord I’ve lost my mobile
No one can reach me now
Oh Lord I’ve lost my mobile
Find it and I’ll walk your way
Slow fade, end.
Welcome welcome to the long stay ward
The falling of the House of Usher
I lie so trussed and dripped in my shroud
I don’t run away like I used to
Daytime TV talks turkey Trevor
Trev, how deep are we now?
In his hair and his gell and his leather
Deep enough he said turning to bow.
The computer calls me illegal
The first time since punk died away
The man in the next bed ends it all
I can’t wait to go all the way
I see back through thick, thick glass
Uniforms marching down and up again
Stand by me and watch the camera pass
Time runs down into a single frame
Down below the Prospect of Whitby
Men drown on the incoming tide
The child of my child demands money
from close up to slow pan I shoot wide
It’s another good day for the elderly
Just move my chair to the sun
It’s another good day for the elderly
Won’t have to go through it again
Chorus
So this is what it’s like to be happy
Good to find after all these years
I’ve got my chair in front of the telly
And nurse gives pills, so cheers my dears
Sneeze we all fall down
I’m planning the songs for my funeral,
With a nose rubbed red like a clown
I’m planning the songs for my funeral
at least till this cold dies down
Every life shall have some roses
Every life shall have some thorns
someone took away my flowers
life in a world full of pricks
I lie like a whale without bearings
A beach looms up on my side
Stranded in grit and worn plastic
I’ll stink when it comes to low tide,
Like God who saw everything was good
Till one cough later I feel despair
I don’t remember ordering sainthood
Or finding that I just don’t care
Hanging around in the town of unsleep
When every single shop is shut
Stuck where the shit runs thigh deep
Hoping my throat will be cut
Against the background noise of the past
I’m always at home to Mr Gloom
The Enemy of Promise?
When Braque first met Picasso
They went for a beer at Barney’s,
Pollock asked them out for a fight,
The Velvets tuned down in the corner,
And Michelangelo scowled at us all.
When Jackson and Hank get talking
and pissing away in the fire,
there’s no one here can stop them
so Willem talks Dutch to the wall
And Michelangelo scowls at us all.
Off duty Raphael, eyes girls all night,
Benvenuti Leonardo lovely in lilac,
Lisping golden mean with beauty
It’s boys in the back room again.
And Michelangelo scowls at us all.
Ernest and those who can stand him
drink Bellinis at Harry’s till dawn.
Request Gin and O at Mollys
And listen to the siren call
And Michelangelo scowls at us all.
Robert taking photos with Patti,
though only in black and in white.
My doctor feeding milk to John Lee
Saying no we don’t need no more.
And Michelangelo scowls at us all.
While Bob sits staring at Andy
Lucian and Francis have large ones
with Maureen in the Colony Rooms.
As Andy films Bob, one and all.
And Michelangelo scowls at us all.
Now coming up to midnight
Last orders in gardens of pleasure
You might hurry up please, it’s time
TS raises another glass to Ezra
And Michelangelo scowls at us all.
Calypso pours Odysseus a stiff one
To keep him staying on site
The Fisherman with us drink Flowers
To keep Dylan T standing at all
And Michelangelo scowls at us all
At the Baron Hotel in Aleppo
Orenz takes tea with Shariff
Leonardo is back testing the water
While his boys crush ice with their teeth
And Michelangelo scowls at us all
Living sculptures stand drinking Gordons
While Gilbert is dancing with George
Rimbaud is goosing Verlaine again
In the French so our vessels are small
And Michelangelo scowls at us all.
Jack types his being on paper
while Bill puts his up his arm
cutting time in the Café de Paris
Berlin David is watching it all
And Michelangelo scowls at us all.
Every night down at the Fenton
We drank our own body weight
in beer and opinion and laughter
mortality and mortgage could wait
And Michelangelo still scowled at us all
Coda
We’re down drinking at the Cedar
Downing a few at the bar
Living it large with the old boys
Getting one in for them all
Triage
Three wise men come in from the bar
Counting their lives in pints of beer
One day I thought I’d be sitting there
Nobody said life was fair
From enclosure to closure
it was ever thus
men bound up for the common share
just goods sold on as surplus
I liked it out on the farm
Flowers grow in the corn
Wilting after reapings done
Now it’s shot by a hired gun
There was never much of a welcome
When I came back each day
But that was where I came from
I will never go there again
In the summer out to cricket
Be one of the big house team
No matter what I wanted
I was volunteered again
We went out with the horses
Though I’m an arable man
We went up to the fighting
A horse that scared would run
Michaelmas plough in blood and bone
To make the crops grow strong
Cold and grey and not yet spring
Wrong time, wrong crop, all wrong
I won’t have to hide my eyes now
Wherever I am going
Thank you miss for smiling
Holding my hand while I go
Chorus
It will all be over by Christmas
We’ll put our feet up with the rest
It will all be over by Christmas
You can lay me down to rest
This Special Brew; the climbing boys song
Lets go back to Hercules buildings, late nights in Lambeth
Where Billy talked of painters, shining ancient in his dreams
Who showed him angels, four colours and the truth
Triangles on circles inside golden glowing dreams.
We drank burning spirits running the length of Fetter Lane
Billy’s golden arches shining out on a starry sky.
Jewels of Albion running down the kennels and the lane
We lay on dreaming beds on golden pillars high.
Let’s go back to Billy’s, his beauty made us pure
labouring printer of ages in the Valley of Despair
Marigolds in his garden and vines around the door
Stepping out with songs to light the darksome air.
We saw Billy’s Newton kill thought with reason
The compass arc that crucifies the bow
For every artist a perfect season
Now Billy lies with dissenters down on Bunhill row
Chorus
Lets go back to Billy’s, he is our Liberty boy
This sacred land, this special brew that puts us down to die
Lets go back to Billy’s, washed by rain shining in the sun,
Climbing boys reach for fathers high, our work is never done.