1. |
Some Kind of Freedom
04:50
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SOME KIND OF FREEDOM
Take this man of constant sorrow with a passion to be Jesus,
Fishing for apostles from the flotsam in Hyde Park,
With a Kindly Yorkshire angel, head-to-foot in biker's leather,
And an Aussie horse-race gambler on sabbatical from work.
Are you listening, are you searching, are you open to conversing?
Will a Buddhist meet a skeptic in communion dialectic?
Feed your spirit in the cafe until dark!
You with your Bible, me with my band,
Graffiti artist with the spray-can in his hand,
Motorbike hero and sex-symbol queen,
We're all looking for some kind of freedom.
See the kaftan lotus-eater, arm in arm with a kibbutznik,
And a pair of easy riders hippy-trailing to Tibet,
Taking time out from free-loving to buy psychedelic posters
And rock music, mind-expanding, synergistically with pot.
Are you listening, are you searching, are you open to conversing?
Will the moment existential trip into the transcendental?
Feed your spirit on the pleasures newly met!
You with your Bible, me with my band,
Graffiti artist with the spray-can in his hand,
Motorbike hero and sex-symbol queen,
We're all looking for some kind of freedom.
Hear an Arab agitator advocating racial violence,
Next to US draft-card burners trying to put an end to war,
And a feminist fomenter, dungareed in stonewashed denim,
Loudly criticising menfolk in the mode of Germaine Greer.
Are you listening, are you searching, are you open to conversing?
Will a pacifist protestor tangle with a Tory heckler?
Feed your spirit, fight your battles evermore!
You with your Bible, me with my band,
Graffiti artist with the spray-can in his hand,
Motorbike hero and sex-symbol queen,
We're all looking for some kind of freedom.
Some get high debating universal truth and reason,
Others buzz on pleasure, risk, necessity and chance,
While the poser-fixers mix it with the politics of violence,
And the message in the zeitgeist struggles bravely to make sense.
Are you listening, are you searching, are you open to conversing?
Philosophically speaking, will your mind be at the meeting?
Feed your spirit, feel the rhythm, join the dance!
You with your Bible, me with my band,
Graffiti artist with the spray-can in his hand,
Motorbike hero and sex-symbol queen,
We're all looking for some kind of freedom.
Are you looking for your kind of freedom?
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2. |
Making Good Money
02:48
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MAKING GOOD MONEY
You model financial predictions for banks,
Tappety-click, tappety-click,
Austerity means you don’t get any thanks,
Making good money for bankers.
Chorus: Tappety-, tappety-, tappety-click,
Tappety-click, tappety-click
Tappety-, tappety-, tappety-click,
Making good money for bankers.
A web-site developer, young, bright and bold,
Tappety-click, tappety-click,
Creative designs worth a fortune in gold,
Making good money for dot.coms.
Chorus: As Verse 1.
A fashion icon who’s appearing in Vogue,
Snappety-click, snappety-click,
Her habits fuel gossip, a lovable rogue,
Making good money for clothes lines.
Chorus: Snappety-, snapetty-, snappety-click,
Snappety-click, snappety-click,
Snappety-, snappety-, snappety-click,
Making good money for clothes lines.
Footballers, movie stars and Chief Execs,
Chequity-cheque, chequity-cheque,
Supply and demand has no moral aspects,
Making good money from stardust.
Chorus: Chequity-, chequity-, chequity-cheque,
Chequity-cheque, chequity-cheque,
Chequity-, chequity-, chequity-cheque,
Making good money from stardust.
Uni graduates with student loans,
Blankety-blank, blankety blank,
seeking positions as unpaid interns,
Making good money for misers.
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3. |
Parents of the Dead
03:33
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PARENTS OF THE DEAD
Out on the street we heard the blast,
An explosion, then a commotion.
Palestinian iconoclast
Brain-dead with devotion.
And in the aftermath the chill,
As we took in amongst the kill,
Our Sarah’s bloodied form lay still
In expelled animation.
We are the parents of the dead
The angry, innocent bereaved.
Instead of hatred we share grief,
No matter what our race or creed.
A rifle-shot, a ricochet,
Farrago down in Gaza,
Stealthily searching a passageway,
Snap-sighting down a laser,
An Israeli soldier on patrol,
Sniping at shadows in cubby-holes,
Took out Badawi scurrying home
From school to you, his father.
Each retribution brings no end
To slaughter of the innocents.
We call on both sides to repent
So wounds can heal and hearts can mend.
May cousins learn to understand
How two states share the Promised Land.
We are one, Arabs and Israelis,
The Circle of Bereaved Families
We are the parents of the dead
The angry, innocent bereaved.
Instead of hatred we share grief,
No matter what our race or creed.
We are the parents of the dead.
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4. |
On the First Violin
04:34
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ON THE FIRST VIOLIN
I sat writing on a liner in the starboard lounge,
Looking out over the sea,
And as I wrote, I listened to the band,
Playing in a plaintive key.
On the first violin was a brown-eyed girl,
With her hair hung down in a flaxen curl,
And when she had completed all she had to play,
She looked up from her music and I caught her eye.
On the first violin was a brown-eyed girl,
Her hair hung down in a flaxen curl,
And as she played in a plaintive key,
I caught her eye and she was looking at me.
After the recital she demurely rose,
Turning away from me,
Out upon the deck breathing the salt-spray air,
Gazing on the troubled sea,
We engaged in talk and her eyes turned sad;
She was recently bereaved of a long-loved lad,
He was fighting as a conscript in the Kenyan war,
When a Mau-Mau bullet struck him and it laid him low.
On the first violin was a brown-eyed girl,
Her hair hung down in a flaxen curl,
And as she played in a plaintive key,
I caught her eye and she was looking at me.
I did not see her disembark,
We had connected but too soon,
Her healing heart would find a path to someone else.
With a busy schedule to pursue,
Of publishers and speaking coast-to-coast,
At small cafés I ended days in missed romance.
I was on a sister liner when a year had gone,
Homeward bound and free,
In the starboard lounge, I was waiting for the band,
Without expectancy;
The conductor stood with his baton poised,
Gesturing the audience to quell their noise,
When the first violin took the stage to play,
My brown-eyed girl was smiling and she caught my eye.
On the first violin was a brown-eyed girl,
Her hair hung down in a flaxen curl,
And as she played in a major key,
I caught her eye and she was smiling at me.
And as she played in a major key,
She caught my eye and she was smiling at me.
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5. |
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WILL YOU CHRISTIANS AND JEWS
Osama Bin Laden is took out by raiders,
Jihadist fanatics vow still to fight on,
While their passion for violence breeds mayhem and carnage,
Distorting the vision of prophets long gone.
The USA welcomes young, Islamic tourists
To waterboard down in Guantanamo Bay,
Conveniently outside its judicial borders,
Together at the pleasure of the torturers’play.
Will you Christians and Jews with your Western world-views
Come to lie down with the Muslims and the Sikhs and Hindus?
Will you godless Chinese leave Tibetans at ease,
Meditating on the mantra “In our time, bring us peace”?
Will drought turn to desert and water be rationed,
And biofuel crops replace rain-forest trees?
Is it too late already to cool down the green-house
Or together replenish the black, oily seas?
Now oceans are no longer teeming with fishes,
And National Parks protect zebras and gnus,
Are we trustworthy stewards of all evolution
Or killers of many for the sake of the few?
Will you Christians and Jews with your Western world-views
Come to lie down with the Muslims and the Sikhs and Hindus?
Will you godless Chinese leave Tibetans at ease,
Meditating on the mantra “In our time, bring us peace”?
Tornadoes come twisting across mid-America,
Earthquakes and tsunamis have shaken Japan,
With global-scale risk of a nuclear meltdown,
We’re in it together, each state to a man.
On a planet shrunk tiny by web-sites and e-mails
And Facebook and Twitter and chat-room romance,
Where iPhones flash footage of news as it happens,
If we’re pulling together, then we might stand a chance.
Will you Christians and Jews with your Western world-views
Come to lie down with the Muslims and the Sikhs and Hindus?
Will you godless Chinese leave Tibetans at ease,
Meditating on the mantra “In our time, bring us peace”?
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Dave Pierce Saint Neots, UK
Dave Pierce is a Cambridgeshire-based folk /roots songwriter who has been performing his own songs in folk clubs since the early 70’s. Rooted in the English and American folk traditions, his song topics range widely from folk tales to contemporary issues. ... more
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