Wecasrlpefhdphts (Talkin’ Blues)

A Funny Thing Happened As I Went Out To Use The Head

The Rumble

I felt it rumble 
I felt it twinge
If it were a hunger
It was set to binge

There was a burn
There was a sting
If it were fowl
It’d likely be set to sing

It rose from nothing
It rose from the dead
If it took life
It’d a surely’ve bled

Hampered up and dredged 
Hushed and quelled
Put an end to it
I’d dare say all tongues were held

I saw the end come
I saw it near
I did my best
To hide my fear

Today is new
Yesterday forgotten
Eat the fruit
Before it’s spoiled and rotten

The Rumble

St. Mary’s Hand

There might be nothing more
Than what you thought she said
That all those streams flowing may someday be
Nothing more than a dried-up riverbed
N’ all those voices of dissension
Are nothing more than figments inside your head

Take St. Mary’s hand
Into Bedlam you will land

There was an abundance of choice
Until the choice was no longer theirs
It stood unconcealed
With its burdens to be bared      
She bore witness
As belief fell away from their prayers

Take St. Mary’s hand
Into Bedlam you will land

With a cold wind blowing
Through your winter of discontent
Release is coming
You best hope it’s heaven sent
Or the other axe might just fall
N’ be the point to what it was she meant

Take St. Mary’s hand
Into Bedlam you will land

Nothing changes but change itself
Humbled opinion is spreading fast
You board up your doors and windows
N’ hope it ain’t gonna last
She speaks in platitudes
To placate any curse that’s been cast

Take St. Mary’s hand
Into Bedlam you will land

It’s crowded at the bottom
All who thought they were up have fallen now
Talking in terms most unbecoming
In an attempt to dissuaded somehow
But she wanted different answers
While they dined on the last vestiges of the fatted cow

Take St. Mary’s hand
Into Bedlam you will land

From pillar to post
They make their way
Walking without purpose
As the ol’ hinge of life just screeches away
She kept on with the situation
And led none astray

Take St. Mary’s hand
Into Bedlam you will land

St. Mary's Hand

Thread The Needle

If you told me I had shards of glass in my side
I’d not doubt a word
I’m all carved and cut up
Yet not a scar nor gash has occurred
I’m ripped apart form the inside
I can hear how those words I speak are absurd
But you step into my shoes for a while
See how long you last at being rattled and stirred

I’m at the start of an never ending line
Like a train running its stations each and everyday
The old emotions are called up by your voice every time
With the exchange between us leaving little mystery as to what the other’ll say
With the hard contrast of black and white
There’s little left to exist within the unused shades of grey
Opportunities flash by within a moment of hope
I’m lost and restless within infernal rattling of the bray

Forge a new path
One that’s unsoiled by blatant disregard
Call all the stray animals in
Teach them how to play their cards
Tuck away the charades
Let down your feeble guard
The countdown has long started
N’ you’ll be lucky if you make it out only scarred

Time is a fence
It holds you in while it draws you out
The flowers just beyond
Don’t suffer deluge or drought
The briars call you over
Its thorny intent leaves little doubt
It's got you by the neck
As it thrashes you about

It’s a wet staircase
The welcome mat waits for the fall
The duplicitous railing wobbles
As it boasts safety with tongue in cheek and a whole lot of gall
I‘ve taken to the street
A new baby in the world answering its call
If I ain’t around by the end dear
Just assume I’ve made my peace someplace beyond the wall

Thread The Needle

Bespattered Point of View 

I’m holding true 
Apposed to the appointed world view 
The sticky thoughts of yesteryear 
Are tugging away with a building fear 
For the guardians of the feckless 
Work with a doubt that they dare not confess 
You question but think better than to ask 
For confidence is high but none are really up to the task 

My eyes are focused on the mud 
N’ they’re focused on the stain 
Focused on the whitewash 
Focused the torrents of rain 
I’m looking for a clue 
Through a bespattered point of view 

There isn’t much time left 
It all seems so bereft 
With a few steps beyond our prime 
We’re slipping behind our time 
We ought to be moving now 
But we’re sinking somehow 
It’s nearing the end 
And I tiptoe as not to offend 

My eyes are focused on the mud 
N’ they’re focused on the stain 
Focused on the whitewash 
Focused the torrents of rain 
I’m looking for a clue 
Through a bespattered point of view

Bespattered Point Of View

I've got a few tracks posted on Bandcamp as well, give it a listen sometime if you have the time – josephshenton.bandcamp.com. 

Thanks for listening (and reading).

Joseph Shenton

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