This story is short,
is there more I can add?
Raise him up from the grave,
we'll all get chilblains.
'God', written shorthand,
I say's a smudge on the page,
we'll all get chilblains. 
Been dead, comes back.
Look, it's tough giving odds on when.
But our boy appeared to the woman,
if God said he did.
Ok!
They swore he performed,
yet was mortal as man.
Raises much to debate,
we'll all get chilblains.
He walked on water but can't,
save himself from his fate.
We'll all get chilblains.
Killed then, comes back,
he's, 'the first born of the dead'.
Guess carpentry weren't his only extraordinary gift.
We're saved!
This story is short,
is there more I can add?
Raise him up from the grave,
we'll all get chilblains.
He walked on water but can't,
save himself from his fate.
We'll all get chilblains.

Chilblains

The more we're in touch,
the more I'm ashamed how,
I'm fallin' in love,
with her at Front Street.
Yeah, fate might've planned,
to ensure we met either way.
But did fate light a match,
knowing sure we'd melt by the flame?
I'm torn by the pull,
of right, wrong and grey ground.
I've fought this enough,
I'm drawn to Front Street.
Yeah, fate might've planned,
to ensure we'd text either way.
But did fate light a match,
knowing sure we'd melt by the flame?
And I'll never not mean the things,
that I've laid bare for this.
And I'll never not need to fight,
for a love as rare as this.
The warmth of the touch,
you're pulling away now.
Like a sword to the gut,
you turned at Front Street.
Yeah, fate might've planned,
to ensure we were destined to fail.
'Cause when fate lights a match,
it knows sure we'll melt by the flame. 
Alarmed as to why,
she's shutting me out.
Just photographs left,
'cause she's ghosting now.
But I'll never not mean the things,
that I've laid bare for this.
And I'll never not need to fight,
for a love as rare as this.
Gone and for good,
she's walkin' away now.
It's all he deserves,
this karma cuts deep.
Gone and for good,
there's rocks in our way now.
The forks and the turns,
that keep her,
from Front Street.
And so fate lights a match,
knowing sure we'll melt by the flame.
And this play's final act,
is the proof of the mess that we made. 
But I'll never not mean the things,
that I've laid bare for this.
And I'll never not dream of the life,
that we'll never get to live.

Front Street (Gone For Good)

In his prime he was 14 with,
the shyest smile and the cutest hair.
In the 90's it all made sense;
too tired to try and too cool to care.
In her prime, she was 14 then.
By far most-liked, she'd the coolest friends.
In the 90's it all made sense,
when the hierarchy of school was set.
Gettin' by then the noughties hit.
For most they're memories,
packed up and kept stored.
But know that them memories,
dragged us from sixth form to the weekend.
The same old countries, the same old sights.
An age-old cliché, before our eyes;
you've reached school and peaked there. 
Reunited, we're all still kids.
Seems far less likely, they've moved on since.
Pitied by those he'd always scared,
when the hierarchy of school's not there.
In decline since the noughties hit.
For most they're memories,
packed up and kept stored.
But know that them memories,
dragged us from sixth form to the weekend.
The same old countries, the same old sights.
An age-old cliché, before our eyes;
you've reached school and peaked there. 
In his prime he was 14 with,
the shyest smile and the cutest hair.
In the 90's it all made sense;
too tired to try and too cool to care.

Peaked At School

Click the link below for video
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wOLZytE-CMN&feature=youtu.be

The sound of my phone tries to force me awake
but I'll drag things out again.
Whatever finish line's in store,
it's not worth the race,
on these dormant days.
Without a reward it's so pointless to shave
so I'll drag it out again,
'til I've a lid on my bad thoughts
and podcasts to play.
I've got it made,
yet I'm afraid.

Roused from my slumber at quarter to eight
'cause I've planned things out but wait;
Turns out, to make a start's,
a bridge too far I'm afraid,
on these dormant days.
Hours absorbed on my phone 'cause it's fake
and distracts me from my brain.
I feel a little guilt,
just not enough yet to change.

The sound of my phone tries to force me awake
but I'll drag things out again.
Whatever finish line's in store,
it's not worth the race,
on these dormant days.

I've got it made.

Unknown album (27/09/2018 18:46:22)

Dormant Days (with video)

Slide Me Down

Please check out the video
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FNUIhoY3dA8

Wakin', the dawn of day
And I gotta think about what I wanna say
Phone ringin' off the shelf
I guess it wanted to kill himself
Wakin' on a pretty day
Don't know why I ever go away
It's hard to explain
My love in this daze

You could say I've been most all around
But lately I'm not going anywhere 
Don't worry about anything
It's only dying
I live along a straight line
Nothing ever really comes to mind
To be frank, I'm fried
But I don't mind
Yeah, yeah...........
Been diggin'
Layin' low, low, low
I'm diggin'
Layin' low, low, low
Dig, dig in
To these lives we are livin'
Livin' low and lackadaisically so...

Risin' at the crack of dawn
And I gotta think about what wisecrack
to drop along the way
Phone's ringin' off the shelf
Well I guess somebody has stuff they
want to prove to us today

Wakin' on a pretty day
Floating by in outer space
No need to explain to my loved ones today

Words and music by Kurt Vile, Copyright 2012

Wakin' On A Pretty Day (Kurt Vile Cover With Video)

Smartphones abound,
faces down,
soon enough they've drowned.
Makes you wish for analogue and VHS a bit.
Starved of a sound,
to claim as ours,
they used them up and now;
We're the rejects
and time's the architect.
Nostalgic about,
playing out,
'Beat 'em ups', and how,
our favourite mix would break cassettes,
the more, 'Play', was pressed.
Mums allowed,
mates around,
if you'd the guts,
to call their house.

No one's exempt here, you're one of the three;
Gen X, Y, or those left that fall in-between.
For them the sense they belong's yet to be found.

Smartphones abound,
faces down,
soon enough they've drowned.
Makes you wish for analogue and VHS a bit.
Starved of a sound to claim as ours,
a tune with words,
from all our mouths.
Nostalgic about,
playing out,
'Beat 'em ups' and how,
our favourite mix would break cassettes,
the more, 'Play', was pressed.
Mums allowed,
mates around,
if you'd the guts,
to call their house.
They'd sooner rip all the bare wires out.

Cold War hell,
would haunt Gen X,
but our lives were meant then to,
start pulling ahead.
The dawn of tech,
felt more like history's death.

If only we'd been there to see it for ourselves
(when the Xennials were teens)

The Xennials

"Blissful Red brings the kind of beautiful energy a singer-songwriter with a poet's heart would."
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"Listening to this artist's work is an intriguing experience, as it combines elements that evoke the vibes of iconic acts like Simon & Garfunkel, Mazzy Star and Beck, while still maintaining a distinct and individual style."
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"Drenched in complicated emotion."
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"Grungey, vibey, cool as shit." 
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"Blissful Red captures a sensibility that came to the fore during that early to mid-90s period in Western culture......wilfully rough around the edges...... a more authentic and intimate song writing style."                                                       queencitysoundsandart.wordpress.com                                                        

"Blissful Red’s Tom Leaver draws the listener in, weaving melody and rhythm to create heartfelt reminiscences of an era that continues to never quite fit in."
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"A voice reminiscent of Elliott Smith."
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Blissful Red

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