A question rings out on the strings
And stirs an answer from within,
So cling on to that sprouting hope 
And race the final stretch till home. 
The wreathing mists will soon give way, 
Forerunner of a blazing day, for sure.

At the junction between seasons, 
Hand shaking as it slides the key in,
A taste of the road in your mouth,
Drawn to the sun that lies further south,
Rip the blanket from your grasp,
Tear yourself out of the past, and go.

How long will it be, till we're alone? 
You know there are places I must show you.

Come warm your weary feet next to the heat 
We'll sit and wait for this to blow through.

And you don't say a word.
You just make your way outside
And move on with your life.

You turn and trace the path you made
And pray its harsh imprint will fade,
With each ascending hairpin bend 
You're pulling taut the last loose ends.
Wild thoughts long left to percolate
Are allowed to see the light of day at last.

Between Seasons

Telescopes

This Curse, Music

Blessed but Incensed

Shebang

Old Man Of Brunden

Nectar Hunt

Stuck In Aberdare

A track from the play FOSSILS, by Bucket Club.

Words and music by David Ridley

FOSSILS: Half Way

It's not down to you to keep the world in motion, 
Peel your fingers off the wheel.
You're making to run,
While your ride has broken down.

So let loose those blue, inky notes before the heavens open,
And the sky becomes the floor.
You stress to impress
As you brace for the applause.

Why do you think so little of me?
Of little old me,
What give you the authority
To think so little of me?
Of little old me,
I try and count to ten,
You cut me off at three.

This may take a little while,
Best find something to pass the time.

The coffee stain rings the date, 
On the page you left open,
As the screen steers your eyes to the floor,
You laid out your hopes on sticky notes, 
Then watch them peeling off the walls.

Telescopes

David Urry

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