David Hill put this music together and I begged to add vocals.
Charlie Watts died when I was working at it so I thought I ought to mention him and Brian Jones, who had waited a long time for Charlie to join him wherever.
All the other lyrics are simply ramblings that fit the musical construction.
"Danny's Pool", at the end, belongs to a friend of mine in Florida.
Thanks David.

Charlie's in the sky with Brian
Way out in the stars they're flying
So much for dying
There goes Lucy, with her diamonds
Clinging to her hair
And her brush and dustpan
She is searching for her father who's not there 
He's lost in space
He's dodged his little girl's embrace

When you're standing on the corner blending with the dark
Standing on the corner blending with the dark
You know those zombies won't be long
Those zombies won't be long
Then you'll be gone
Whoa, you'll be gone

When you're hiding in the alley, hiding from the man
You'd better not choke, you better not show
You'd better not show your hand
You better not trip you better not slip don't let your body down
You gotta be tough keep facing it up
Till the sunrise... comes around
Till the sunrise comes around

Take it like you want it
Make 'em wonder how... they can never make you stop it
Take your penlight, shine it through the clouds
Shine your pen right through the clouds

You better not trip you'd better not slip don't let your body down
You gotta be tough keep facing it up
Till the sunrise comes around
Till the sunrise... comes around

Gonna ease myself... in an ice blue jigger of gin
Gonna ease myself... on the edge of Danny's pool
Where the water's almost cool
And we all dive in to an ice blue jigger of gin
Where we all dive in

Charlie's in the Sky with Brian - The Hill-Billy Band

Arthur Mook from Blacksburg, Virginia, (aka aka aka)n did the music and asked me to use his tracks, sing and do a final mix, but not to put my voice too far forward. I hope this is satisfactory.
Thanks Art and I'm working on others.

Rollin’ And Tumblin’

I rolled and I tumbled
Cried the whole night long
Well, I rolled and I tumbled
Cried the whole night long
When I woke up this morning
Did not know right or wrong

I told my baby 
Before I left that town
I told my baby 
Before I left that town
Don’t let nobody
Tear my barrel house down

If the river was whiskey 
And I was a divin' duck
If the river was whiskey 
And I was a divin' duck
I would dive to the bottom 
I might never come up

I could a had religion
Got this bad thing instead
I could a had religion
Got this bad thing instead
All whiskey and women 
Messed with my heart and my head

That still’s down in the valley
where the fog hangs low
That still’s down in the valley
where the fog hangs low
If you find my old still, man
straight down to hell you’ll go.

Trad blues (last verse Bill White)
recorded by Hambone Willie Newbern in 1929

ROLLIN' & TUMBLIN'

I wrote these lyrics in 2012 and recently began a project with Shannon O'Riley, who put this music together for me to sing. Wild shit. 

Gangsta
It pays to be a gangsta when the world don’t give a damn 
Flex your muscles and machismo and pretend that you’re a man
It’s a buzz to crash the parties and watch the way they cower
Give the straights a taste of blood. Spray it on their ivory tower

Be a gangsta, a gangsta, you can never lose
Be a gangsta, be a gangsta, it’s the only life to choose

It’s good to push them in the chest; it’s good to put ‘em to the test
It’s good to stick the blade in when they look as if they’ll fight
I love to slash ‘em with one strike, see life go out just like a light
It’s good to fold the wet blade as the day’s displaced by night

It’s good to hear the women scream as their heroes bite the dust
It’s good to scare them shitless and face their fear with lust
Catch their vision of the barren land as you're stampin' on their boyfriend’s hand
It’s good to break their spirits down from rock to drifting sand

Be a gangsta, a gangsta, an’ you can never lose
Be a gangsta, it’s the only life to choose

If I could take just one thing back, I’d take back my remorse
I should have known I’d get this way when I set out on my course
If I could go back to those dead days all apologies would be erased
And I’d set out on this journey with an element of force

Last night’s newscast hovers like a wraith before my eyes
The brightest of the bright stars are fading from the sky
Cold rain comes through the window; it brings the smell of life
And my guilt has fallen from me like a body from a knife

01 Gangsta

A work in progress. Lyrics, vocal and vocal melody Bill White of the Mount Lofty Ranges in South Australia, music by Arthur Mook, aka Tevil X Bloom, from Blacksburg, Virginia, USA.

Finished

Sometimes things just finish. Endless space diminished.
The solar wind unsteady; dimensions at the ready.
The seeds we plant are trembling as rain and sun come tumbling;
the disbelievers mumbling about their doubts, or something.
While, in between the unimaginable and the simple day, we seek our fill.
In between the unimaginable and the simple day, we seek our fill.
We seek our fill. We seek our fill.

The river of forever does not depend on weather; 
it flows through those who hold it and is the sum of what enfolds it.
All living beings waste, waiting in endless hesitating.
The goblet, pure, presented, when not accepted is resented.
While, in between the unimaginable and the simple day, we seek our fill.
In between the unimaginable and the simple day, we seek our fill.

Finished

Lowell George's great song that Linda Rondstadt was too squeaky and weak to sing. This a man's song, period.
Art Mook, greebly Mork and Tevil X Bloom on backing vocals and they put the music together. Myself on lead vocal and final mixdown.

Willin' (Lowell George, Little Feat, cover)

This is a stream of consciousness understanding of the aboriginal state. I wrote this lyric for Gail Page when she was staying with us in March 2007. Nicole Walkem put some music to it and the original demo was done in a bedroom in Streaky Bay. This full production was done at Cloud Studios at Wyong, New South Wales in 2007. It was on the blues album of the year 2008, 'Colours That Run'. Mark Atkins played didgeridoo on this. Parris McLeod arranged, produced and played piano.

Gecko Moon (My favourite set of lyrics, slightly different to this version)
The Gecko Moon is climbing into the night.
The desert’s pools of shadows and drops of light.
My heart is heavy, my eyes are sad,
Because I’ve lost the best friend I ever had.
The Gecko Moon is climbing through the night.
The Gecko Moon is climbing through the night.

Fate is lying on my shoulders, like a sleeping beast;
I’ll wake into its nightmare when I know it least.
I see the living, I feel the dead;
My spine is pierced by spikes of dread.
The Gecko Moon is climbing through the night.
The Gecko Moon is climbing through the night.

The Gecko Moon is hiding behind the night,
Taking on the darkness, it’s lost from sight.
I hear the voices talking, they’re all half mad
They don’t understand just what we had.
   The Gecko Moon is climbing through the night.
The Gecko Moon is climbing through the night.
Little lizard’s in the stardust, his eyes held tight
Little lizard’s in the stardust, his eyes held tight

Somewhere in the distance a nightbird calls,
The Gecko moon casts shadows on Uluru’s walls.
A tiny creature squirming, casting off its skin,
He leaves behind a relic for its next of kin.
The Gecko Moon is climbing through the night.
The Gecko Moon is climbing through the night.

Gecko Moon

A great old song by John Hartford, made famous by Glen Campbell in 1967.
I asked my good friend Arthur Mook, aka Tevil X Bloom, from Blacksburg, Virginia, USA, for a musical backing and he kindly and magnificently obliged with a couple of guitars and banjos, a fiddle and a bass, plus programmed drums.
My vocals and the final mastering were done in my studio in the Mount Lofty ranges, near Adelaide, in South Australia.

Gentle On My Mind

Jack Walkem arranged and played this. He wondered whether it was too heavy for me. I wasn't sure but I said, 'I'm a drone. I go where I'm pointed.' Lyrics and voice are mine and the rest is Jack's. Music recorded at Jacks place, vocals overdubbed at mine. Wild song.

Shape Shifter

I love John Steinbeck. In 1945 he published a wonderful truth called Cannery Row, about 'bums' (out of work men) in the depression. These men supported one another  through mutual love. A great mate of mine was separated from (by) his equally lovely wife early '79. I wrote this as a contrast. He had to exist on money, and without the love of his former wife. He, Bernie Glover, is the singer and guitarist and I think I sang a bit of stuff way behind the mic. This was recorded in a lovely big stone room on a Sharp cassette deck through two Radio Shack dynamic microphones, all I could afford at the time. I still love this song. I sang back from the microphone for a few seconds from about 3:15. My first thing and not planned. 

In the pic, Bernie is the bloke on the right, I'm the overdressed wanker on the left. The girl who left Bernie, (now a professor) is R foreground. My wife (still) Ilona, sits (still) happily beside me.

Cannery Row

Tevil X Bloom was enthusiastic about creating a bluegrass backing to this lyric that I wrote in 2007, and which Nicole Walkem did a great folk version of in around 2018.
My paternal grandfather died in 1919 from injuries received in 1915 in the Broken Hill mines in New South Wales.
My lead and Tevil's (Art Mook's) backing vocals.

East of the Field

We were tired in the morning, in the hour you begin,
And the wags were all clowning at the top of the dig.
We watched as the basket came up from below,
And young Tommy asked it to not be slow.

And the fog was all whirling and swirling—
All around at the top of the world—
And the wind’s mouth was yawning, and the sunlight was forming,
A thousand miles east of the field.

Then the steel basket surfaced and the night men came out;
When we asked was it worth it they said: ‘Yes, lads; no doubt.’
Yet their lungs were a-bleeding and their hands were red raw,
But they’d long done with asking for more.

And the fog was all whirling and swirling—
All around at the top of the world—
And the wind’s mouth was yawning, and the sunlight was forming,
A thousand miles east of the field.

So we got in the basket, and we went down the shaft;
Tommy called it a casket—and nobody laughed.
And the red sun was shining on the edge of the world.
‘This is mining,’ said the divers for pearls.

And the clouds were all whirling and swirling—
All around, at the top of the world—
And the wind’s mouth was yawning, the sunlight had formed
And the night men were clear of the field.


7 a.m., 8th August 2007, Bill White

East Of The Field

Well, folks, there's this feller called Greebs, also known as Tevil X Bloom, who, out of the blue skies of Blacksburg, Virginia, sent me a piece of music only  three days ago. Well, that music turned me on so much that I wrote the lyric and did a take the same day.
Here is today's take, done with rememberance of the youth I once had and still, at least soulfully, cling to. Thank you Tevil.

Hangin’ in the Air

The hot breeze is sneakin’ by the edge of the lake
and every tree gives a little shake
The day’s sayin’ take what you can take
and Becky’s sweat is hangin’ in the air

I was hopin’ I was gonna meet her there
We’ve got this grass to roll in, she ain’t no China Doll an’
I’m happy that the girl turned out this way
I’m happy that the girl turned out this way
I’m happy that the girl turned out this way

The sun is shinin’ through the leaves above 
and Beck and I are lyin’ there like hand in glove 
You could call it youth or you could call it love
but Beck and me are finally gettin’ there

And you know that I could sense it in the air
We’ve got this grass to roll in, she ain’t no China Doll an’
I’m happy that the girl turned out this way, 
I’m happy that the girl turned out this way
I’m happy that the girl turned out this way           (turned up this way)

The night is falling and the air cools down
Out here there ain’t nobody else around
The jealous angels all look down at us and frown
And our lovin’ vibes are hangin’ in the air
Our lovin’ time is here for us to share                    (hangin’ in the air)

We’ve got this grass to roll in, she ain’t no China Doll an’
I’m happy that the girl turned out this way, 
I’m happy that the girl turned out this way
We’re happy that our day turned out this way


25th August 2025 (inspired by a Greebs tune)


Hangin' in the Air 28th August 2025

Tevil X Bloom, my  collaborator for around seven years now, wrote the lyric for this song and created the entire backing tracks and voices. I tidied up the lyric a touch and sang it. 
Here's "The Roads I Once Knew".

The roads I knew, once upon a time
All went to your house in a perfect straight line
But the times have changed baby, road’s gone black
And I don’t know if I’m ever coming back

I feel lost on these side roads around your house, 
Every corner is a whispering doubt. 
Missed my exit, signs don’t spell your name, 
Every turn just loops me back the same.  

I’m swerving, sliding, lost in your storm, brakes are shot, and the tires are worn, 
I’ve got my foot on the gas, I sense danger up ahead. You're sending out the vibe 
Every yellow light has gone red

Wind keeps howling like a warning sign, 
Moonlight’s flickering, playing tricks on my mind. 
Every mile I go is a dangerous drive,
Into a love that’s snaking on the centerline 

I’m swerving, sliding, lost in your storm, brakes are shot, and the tires are worn, 
Got my foot on the gas, I sense danger up ahead. You're sending out the vibe 
Every yellow light has gone red

Headlights chasing ghosts down an open road, 
But love ain’t mapped, and I lost control.
Chasing your shadow but I ain’t there yet, 
And the closer I come, the more distant you get.

Radio crackling, playing songs we knew,
Faded memories in rhythm and blues. 
Every turn I miss is déjà vu, 
I’m driving in circles straight into you.

I’m swerving, sliding, lost in your storm, brakes are shot, and the tires are worn, 
Got my foot on the gas, I sense danger up ahead. You're sending out the vibe
Every yellow light's gone red

Art Mook 2024

The Roads I Once Knew

A Tevil X Bloom/Bill White composition: In around 2019 Art Mook made up a little tune to which I stuck some old words I'd written about an imaginary love affair with a peace chantin' Creole girl. The music grew rapidly and the lyrics grew too, into a call for racial togetherness and respect for life. Thanks to Art's alter ego, Tevil X Bloom, for all the work he did on this. My voice, voice recording and final master.

Honey Beam and Me

Underneath the distant stars
Honey Beam and me are travelling far.
There’s a magic road to find;
we’re leaving troubled times behind;
catching glimpses of eternity;
Honey Beam and me.

Honey Beam and me, dancing in the street;
we’re where we wanna be, we’re glad we’ve got our little feet.

That girl smile, her mouth gets wide; we hug and kiss, a warm surprise.
We move along right through the tide, wrapped in magic; side by side.
Honey Beam and me; our life’s complete.

The whole community is dancing in the street;
we’re where we wanna be, oh man we sing so sweet.

The whole community is dancing in the street;
we’re where we wanna be, we’re glad we’ve got our little feet.

That girl smile, her mouth gets wide; we hug and kiss, a warm surprise.
We move along right through the tide, wrapped in magic; side by side.
Honey Beam and me; we’re glad we’ve got our feet!

We’re calling everyone together; we’re drivin’ out that stormy weather.
Black and white; red and blue; we’re inviting all of you
to join us in our melting pot, and give love one last shot.

Hey! that girl smile, her mouth gets wide; we hug and kiss, a warm surprise.
Movin’ right along the tide, wrapped in magic; side by side.


Written around 2023 by Bill White. 
Inspired by a tune by Arthur Mook

Honey Beam and Me (20th August 2025)

Art Mook, aka Tevil X Bloom, sent the music to me around 22nd September, 2025 and I was chuffed on looking through old lyrics to find some appropriate ones I'd written in 2016.
A few days later and here we are.

That Rhythm

You know I got that rhythm when the gift was given
I got it right here in my spine
when the sky was bending, when the light was dancing
to the ticking of my time
lead me thru your motions, smooth me with your lotions
and I will give you mine

When the blue sky dazzles, when the hot sun sizzles
when I slap my wet feet in the sand
when the surf is thumping, where the waves are humping
I synch it with the clapping of my hands
I'm turning in the air, that rhythm takes me there
it whirls and it twirls and never lands

When the water's running, when the winter's coming
when the clouds are stumbling in the sky
I will still be dancing, right in beat, not fancy
warming up my inner signs of life
I'm turning in the air, that rhythm takes me there
it whirls and it twirls, swirls and never dies

That Rhythm

Greebly Mork, aka Tevil X Bloom, put this lovely piece of turn of the 19th century music together in July 2025.
I recorded my vocals and did the master on the 8th October.

Spike Driver Blues

Take this hammer, carry it to the captain,
tell him I’m gone... tell him I’m gone.
Take this hammer, carry It to the captain,
tell him I’m gone... tell him I’m gone.
This is the hammer that killed John Henry, 
It won’t kill me… it won’t kill me.
This is the hammer that killed John Henry, 
It won’t kill me… it won’t kill me.


It’s a long way from east Colorado
to my home… to my home
It’s a long way from east Colorado
to my home… to my home
John Henry left his hammer,
time to go… time to go
John Henry left his hammer
all covered in red… all over in red


John Henry was a steel drivin’ boy
but he went down… he went down
John Henry was a steel drivin’ boy.
He went down… he went down.
Take this hammer, carry it to the captain,
tell him I’m gone... tell him I’m gone.
Take this hammer and carry it to the captain,
tell him I’m gone... tell him I’m gone.




Spike Driver Blues

I wrote this after the 2014 Russian invasion of Ukraine.
In around 2023, after the most recent invasion, my friend Tez Howes, from Moncton, New Brunswick, put a lo-fi music track to it which I added dynamics to in 2025, and another friend, Keith Forster, added an extra jazz-rock guitar to it, which I doctored to get a percussive, chaotic effect, in September 2025. I sang the lead and backing using two different mics through two very different channel strips.

On The Border

They’re fighting on the border, and they move the line around
The fight’s not fought through anger but to keep the border sound
And they fight among the cattle and the milking shed is razed
Half the herd falls in the battle and the other half is crazed

On the border
Way out on the border

They fight along the border and the border crosses towns
The fight creates a kind of order, a preponderance of sounds
This disturbance shapes the landscape and is shaped by it, in turn
And the fight is fed by every shape and the past retires, to burn

On the border… way out on the border

They are fighting on the border, and the lines are mysteries
The smoke of law and ranked disorder makes it difficult to see

They’re fighting on the border and they move the lines around
They say the fight’s not fought through anger but to keep the border sound
And the fires are seen forever, from places none can comprehend
No shift of sanity can sever the simple messages they send

On the border, on the border, on the border. Out there on the border

On the border, where fate’s final toss
breaks every passion down
We’ll wake beyond our endless loss
To find no soul around


Around 2015

On The Border Oct 23 2025

I wrote this lyric way back in May 2003 as a lament about the unfairness of our sharing of resources,
likening the First World's being under the influence of a good life and the greed it might instill to being blind.
Recently I asked Art Mook to put a music track to it.
All instruments and mixing of them by Art Mook. My voice, voice recording and final master.
I think that over time we'll add harmonies or musical inserts. 


This Beautiful Thing

This beautiful thing is making me sing
It’s making me smile, I feel like a king
It’s making me glad, it’s making me dance
This beautiful thing that fell in my hands

Life isn’t a game, not over that way
If life were a game there no one would play
They’d sit on the sidelines, they’d watch from the stands
If life were a game in Afghanistan

All you need is love, we used to say
And love’s enough in every way
Love’s enough, if you love enough to give it all away 

But this beautiful thing doesn’t want me to know
It poisons my roots, I’m unable to grow
It plays with my vision and leaves me half blind
This beautiful thing has ruined my sight 

The cup is rocked, the dice are tossed and casually land
The fate of almost all of us is held in awkward hands
To those who wield the power, power is all they planned
It’s all that they’ve experienced and all they understand 

But this beautiful thing doesn’t want me to know
It poisons my roots, I’m unable to grow

All you need is love, we used to say
And love’s enough in every way
Love’s enough, if you love enough to give it all away


This Beautiful Thing 4th November 2025

A sad love song, lyrics initially written by me in 2017 and completed this year after Tevil X Bloom (Art Mook) got ahold of my scratch vocal. All music and music recording  by Arthur vocals and vocal recording by Bill White , master by Bill.

A Thousand Long Goodbyes

 I’ll meet with you at sunrise.
I’ll offer you some small surprise;
(perhaps a thousand long goodbyes)
to try to keep you there.
We could head out on the open sea;
the open sky and you and me:
set our imagination free
in the blue, reflective air.
I’d like to keep you there… in the blue, reflective air

In a hundred year old motorboat
we could chug along and stay afloat
and share a mutual overcoat
if a cold front happens in.

In our cozy cocoon we’ll glow in the gloom 
as the wild winds go thundering by
As the storm ebbs away we’ll meet a hopeful new day
under the bluest of skies

You challenge me to stay true.
Well, I can’t be true without you—
everything I say and do
could change upon your whim. 

In our cozy cocoon we’ll glow in the gloom 
as the wild winds go thundering by
As the storm ebbs away we’ll meet a hopeful new day
under the bluest of skies

Will you be my flatmate?
I won’t let us stagnate;
you could take me on a blind date,
a blindfold on my eyes.
You can set the course we take—
we can be the promise that we make;
in our home beside the endless lake
under blue, reflective skies. 
Say a thousand long goodbyes… 


A Thousand Long Goodbyes

In 2009 my son, Russ, played guitar and my daughter, Rienna, played drums on this while I sang. Russ and I put the tune together. Our friend, Ben Carter, played bass. This was our first run through, just a stereo take off of a mixer. LIVE

Kansas, South Australia

We woke up in Kansas, feet stuck in the ground,
And we looked around us at the few folk around:
An old couple smokin’ and lookin’ at us
And a cowboy out ropin’ from the roof of a bus—
I know he’s just holdin’ on  I know he’s just holdin’ on  

And the bus was cold yellow and the wheels were pure gold—
He was a fine looking fellow, and not very old…
But into each second we felt cold years spill,
And the next thing I reckoned… he was over the hill.
I know he’s just holdin’ on  I know he’s just holdin’ on 
I know he’s just holdin’ on  I know he’s just holdin’ on 

From the hills came blue lightning, and the lost and the sad:
The cold and the frightened and those misnamed as bad,
And they streamed to the basin with no sideways glance—
To the future they were facing;  that crumbling chance.
I know he’s just holdin’ on I know he’s just holdin’ on
I know he’s just holdin’ on I know he’s just holdin’ on

We woke up in Marla, our feet on the ground,
We looked out at the mulga and the few folk around.
There were faces like stone chips looking at us,
And a man cracked a stockwhip on top of a bus—
I know he’s just holdin’ on  I know he’s just holdin’ on  

August 19th, 2009.

Kansas with Ben Carter (bass) Russ and Rienna White.

A girl, raped in Ukraine. This is a redo. It was originally done three years ago.

My lead and backing vocals and mixdown. Tez Howes first music idea to my lyrics. He also sings on the bridge. Adam Grossman put together a great musical backing track.
My wife says I'm going too hard on this vocal. Well, that's how I feel.

Little Body

She don’t own her little body, she’s not certain of today
she don’t have a dad and mommy, all her world is blown away
she has dreams of times before this, she’s not certain what it was
she lies twisted in the present, she tells herself it’s just because

She don’t own her little body
she’s not certain of today
she don’t have a dad and mommy
all her world is blown away

Men like this have come to get her, men are treating her this way
does this make things any better? no-one knows quite what to say
times have come and gone before this, time does really not connect
days have disappeared in cold mist, it does no good to cry or beg 

She don’t own her little body she’s not certain of today
she don’t have a dad and mommy all her world is blown away
She don’t own her little body she’s not certain of today
she don’t have a dad and mommy all her world is blown away

and the sun dies at the window’s edge and the wind blows wild and cold
among these soulless beings around is there a gentle hand to hold 

Men are praising God and Allah, as they leave her on her own
she keeps her body close together, tries to get her mending done                                 
day by day and nothing changes, then one day she’s gone at last
just a spirit among strangers, just a dream lost in the past. 

She don’t own her little body she’s not certain of today
she don’t have a dad and mommy all her world is blown away

They can do just what they want to
she can not do anything
she is waiting for tomorrow
for a caring bell to ring
She don’t own her little body
she’s not certain of today
she don’t have a dad and mommy
all her world is blown away

Bill White, 9th May 2022.

LITTLE BODY 2nd Jan 2026

A song inspired by the 2015 Nepal earthquake. All I did was write the lyrics. Shannon O'Riley arranged, sang played guitar and produced this song.
Here comes the night, it's creeping up on us,
hiding there just behind the dusk.
The sun goes down, we don't see where it goes.
We just assume; nobody knows.
Living here, way up on Kathmandu,

Here comes the night, it hides behind the dusk;
creeping behind, it lusts for us.
The sun has gone to hide beneath the stones --
beneath the dirt that holds my bones.
Living here, way up on Kathmandu,



Katmandu

Written some time ago. Tracks supplied by Marc Roberge who never had a drink in his life! Thanks for a great piece of music Marc. My voices, vocal recording, mixdown and lyrics.
 Closing Down

The bars are closing down,
 and at each end of the town
  the hostile hackles rise,
   and storm clouds thump across the sky.
	
    The half-pint screamer cries
     as something brave inside him dies;
      no matter what he wills  
       life seems a black and bitter pill.

        Somewhere in the hills,
         some old friend is standing still
          and thinking, still, of me~ 
           some old vision that he sees.

            All at once his eye is keen; 
             he looks at what he hasn’t seen
              and he knows me, instantly,
               as the man I aimed to be;

                and all the pomp and piety
                 that never meant a thing to me
                  shudders to the floor,
                   with an ostentatious roar.

                    Though pitiful and poor,
                     there are small truths you can’t ignore
                      when you see them in the glass,
                       so drink well, before they pass.
 
                        And when the brew fills you, at last,
                         you have to find the essence fast
                          for the bars are closing down;
                           the bars are closing down.         


24/10/99   
    Life is short forever

Closing Down

Nicole Walkem did the harmonies on this.

So Cool

Everything is cool and just as perfect as can be
Well I can see that you’re no fool just full of alcohol and ecstasy
You’re such a sweet thing, sweet thing to me

The night goes on forever it has a life of its own
all that lies before it seems dead
just scattered neon signs with every tube blown like
scattered neon signs with every tube blown
You’re such a sweet thing, sweet thing to me 

In a building like a cave we spend the nights we’ve saved
It seems like every minute’s free
We breathe the music in we breathe it out again
We slip another trick from our sleeves (yep)

Seems that everything is cool, it’s just as perfect as can be
And I can see that you’re no fool just full of alcohol and ecstasy 

You’re such a sweet thing, sweet thing to me (yo)
The night goes on forever it has a life of its own
all that lies before it seems dead 
just scattered neon signs with every tube blown like
scattered neon signs with every tube blown
You’re such a sweet thing, sweet thing to me Yo

In a building like a cave we spend the nights we’ve saved
It seems like every minute’s free
We breathe the music in we breathe it out again
We slip another trick from our sleeves 

You’re such a sweet thing, sweet thing to me

01 So Cool 2018

Lyrics and vocals: Bill White
Rhythm guitar and backing melody: Russell White
Drums: Rienna White
Lead guitar and bass: Keith Forster
Drums and rhythm guitar, lead guitar and bass done in one take, vocals in two. All tracks live. No copy and paste.

Who Will Fall

In the terminal
In the square
Under singing wires
that carve the air
In all innocence
In slow time
Past the dancing fires 
the pilgrims climb

Who will guard the gate
Who will fall
Who’ll retaliate
From atop the wall

As the nightmares pass
from shade to shade
As all lost desires
become remade
By the bedroom door
a jewel of blood—
the songs of long dead choirs—
a moaning flood

Watch who guards the gate
Watch him fall
He who came so late
to take it all.

Who Will Fall (This is Aleppo)

Guitar and musical idea, Russell White
Lyrics and voice, Bill White

No Alterations

she's standing on this landing
her heart says: 'float away'
her soul half understanding
the choices she has made
each memory a jewel
no crown to plant them in
each compliment a drop of fuel
a journey to begin
she takes it up, she takes it up
she's carried to the sky
the dirt adhering to her cuffs
the mud has smudged her eyes
the signs are elemental
yet hard to comprehend
on every stair a sentinel
to point her to the end
each memory a jewel
dimmed in a foggy haze
each compliment a drop of fuel
to carry her away
she takes it up, she takes it up
she's carried to the sky
the dirt adhering to her cuffs
the mud has smudged her eyes
there were no alterations, no editing allowed,
she lived her life in real time, like playing to a crowd

RubikRi's Square

No Alterations

A song about Edie Sedgwick who died thru drug abuse in 1971 at 28 years of age. She was abused by her father and used by other men, and so had a need to avoid reality. A fragile, sad and finally tragic case. 
My lyrics and vocal idea, Russell White's arrangement and first guitar, Keith Forster on alternate guitar and Nicole Walkem on keys, Rienna White on drums.
EDIE
In old days her future seemed planned, now she’s blown by the wind
the stars are demanding she doesn’t go near them again
there is no need to fear anything
just fly blind and try not to swing
into the paths of the kings

Poor Edie lies out in the rain and her bones are so white
her skin is transparent her bare heart beats frail in the light
She turns from the real to the place she desires
no more sad endings, no slow burning fires

Watercolour faces go by in the whimsical dawn
the fog sets upon her as she from the old world is torn
from the basement below her there comes
from the grate in the asphalt that hums
a whisper that numbs

Poor Edie lies out in the rain and her bones are so white
her skin is transparent her bare heart beats frail in the light
She turns from the real to the place she desires
with no more sad endings, no slow burning fires

The terrified lovers in the lofts up above her are quiet
They speak with regret of the time of the end of the night
they take little comfort from thoughts
that safety might somehow be bought
or future be fought

Poor Edie lies out in the rain and her bones are so white
her skin is transparent her bare heart beats frail in the light
She turns from the real to the place she desires
with no more sad endings, no slow burning fires
she turns her face downwards and so she retires—
exorcised.

Edie (with full backing)

My kids and me. A remix. Rienna White drums, Russell White music, guitar and bass, Bill White Lyrics and vocals.

Silver Screen

I want to take you back to China
I want to leave you in the gutter
View you through the silver screen you’ve made for me
View you through the silver screen you’ve made for me
I want to run through railway stations
With the transit police chasing
View me through the silver screen you’ve made of me
View me through the silver screen you’ve made of me

It’s all a dream, a mystery, I don’t know what it means to me
Just a dream, but history, churned out in some factory

I want to go back to the ghetto
Draw on something warm and mellow
I want to feel the old time world that used to be
I want to feel the old time world that used to be
I want to read the morning papers
Without a sign of false news shapers
I want to feel that what I hear can be believed
I want to feel that what I hear can be believed

It’s all a dream, a mystery, I don’t know what it means to me
Just a dream, that’s all it seems to me

I need to take a long vacation
It’s overdue I’m tired of waiting
I want to go behind the screen you’ve made for me
I want to go behind the screen you’ve made for me
I want to be untouched by lightning
I want to see horizons brightening
And glisten on the silver screen you made for me
Glisten on the silver screen you made for me

It’s just a dream, a mystery, I’m lost in what it means to me
Just a dream, but history, churned out in some factory
It’s just a dream, that’s all it seems to be
Hey...! just a dream.

Silver Screen REMIX

This demo is a collaboration with Ray Chapman from Grimsby, Lincolnshire, UK. All music by Ray, Lyrics and voice by me.

Eleven in the morning...   I’m still not out of bed
My skin is itchy scratchy... like the inside of my head
Twisted in the sheets I’m a timewarp in my hands
Strung out on these dreams of death that no one understands

I’m just a little dinghy, floating on a sea, of misery
I’m just a little dinghy, floating on a sea, of misery

Lit up like a comet in the midnight summer’s day
Drifting through the smoke of all the ones that got away
Crying by the wishing well we filled in yesterday
Had to fill it quickly (‘cause we) couldn’t make it pay

I’m just a little dinghy, floating on a sea, of misery
I’m just a little dinghy, floating on a sea, of misery

Made it to 12.30 the sun is overhead
Kitchen smells like heaven with the smell of fresh baked bread
Everything is bubbling, everyone is warm
Don’t know how I ever woke up, feeling so forlorn

But I’m just a little dinghy, floating on a sea, of misery
I’m just a little dinghy, floating on a sea, of misery
I’m just a little dinghy, just afloat...

Little Dinghy

My lyrics and lead vocal; music, most instruments and ad lib vocals by Arthur Mook, bass and final mastering by Duncan Smith.
THE UNIVERSAL CHICKEN

Chicken, in season, is just another reason 
For seasons to come around each year.
It’s served in every navy, in globs of gray-green gravy,
From cans on which the dating is unclear.

Chicken, flamed in brandy, makes a young Rhinelander randy
Whatever Fraulein might be wandering by;
And warm chicken pies light up the light blue eyes
Of Swedes who dwell beneath the Arctic sky.

Chili chicken jerky, tasting stark, yet somehow murky,
Is peddled on the streets of New Orleans;
And red red chili chicken makes a gourmet’s gay heart quicken
In high Peru, with pork and Lima beans.

Braised chicken patties are favoured by the fatties
in bistros from Beijing to Adelaide;
And soft chicken dumplings trigger watery-mouthed mumblings
In Paris at the Bastille Day parade.

Well every man loves his chicken 
So treat that chicken like it likes the best
Put those tender morsels in your mouth. Check it out!
The thigh, the leg, the breast
BREAK
Well every man loves his chicken 
So treat that chicken like it likes the best
Put those tender morsels in your mouth. Check it out!
The thigh, the leg, the breast

So! all you chicken knockers: you must be off your rockers;
It’s plain to anyone with half a brain
Chicken is the flavour all good and true men favour,
Without chicken, life’s like walking in the rain!

If you don’t get into chicken
Man you won’t know what you’re missing
those braised pork trotters just don’t taste the same
chicken is the flavour all good and true men favour,
Without chicken, life’s like walking in the rain!
chicken is the flavour good and true men favour,
Without chicken, life’s like walking in the rain
Without chicken, life’s like walking in the rain

The Universal Chicken Song

My lyrics, lead vocal, and recording of lead vocal. All backing vocals, instruments, music composition, production and final mastering by Arthur Mook.

What I’d Been Missing (2nd Hand Guitar)

I bought a second hand guitar,
I threw it in the car and drove away.
Left the wife and kids behind, thinking I could find a better way.
I drove around Australia for nigh on twenty years;
smoked a lot of dacha and I drank a lot of beers,
and I found what I’d been missing
sittin’ right between my ears.

I dunno how I done it I found sensitivity;
I found that living for myself was not the way to be.
I rang the girl I’d left behind and told her I was wrong
(expecting her to tell me she’d been waiting all along).
She said “I found a cracked old harp,
I held it to my heart and kept it there.

“Over time its sound grew true,
I think it had something to do with how I cared.
I’d been waiting for a few months when I ran out of hope.
I went down to the pawn shop trying to find a way to cope,
and I found a dusty piece of work, and I’m glad I took it home.”

Well I dunno how she done it, but she made me think again.
I saw the car and that guitar as my only two friends.
I said “Girl I understand,” and I hung up the phone again.
And gigs in bars and that old car are my home.

I’m gonna drive around Australia for another twenty years;
I’ll smoke a bit more dacha and I’ll drink a few more beers
And I’ll find what I’ve been missing when some punter tells me, “Cheers.”

What I'd Been Missing

Lyrics and music by Tez Howes (Terry Gorman) from a discomfort which Trudy Newell shared. Arrangement, harmonies, and musical production by Arthur Mook. Lead vocal and final mixdown by Bill White.

1999 Again
One more truly tuneless Tuesday at the local record shoppe
I grabbed a tray of what the chickens lay, steppin' light so's not to drop
Spun a track at random but it weren't no work of Proust
All the lyrics sound the same to me now they've all come home to roost

I say damn the new millenium ‘cause the music's turned to shite
I'm only gonna say it once, shout it out with all my might
Invite the new apocalypse
the demand of each new trend
Let's all party like it's 1999 again

The old rooster's on a rampage and the hens are all a-cluck
Mate, yer thinkin' that's some lucky shit, but you're just shit out of luck
Stuck with all these emo chickens safety pins adorn their ears
And my pulse begins to quicken as I trade my tears for fears

I say screw the new millenium as the old notes set to rust
Hey I'm only gonna say it twice before our music bites the dust
Let’s welcome Armageddon
As our song comes to an end
Let’s party like it's 1999 again

It's time to party like it's 1999. All my chickens dead inside my head
And the smell sure ain't sublime
Put your eggs inside one basket
Watch the quality decline
Nothin' left to do but party like it's 1999

BREAK

By the time the weekend rolled around, all the eggs still in their trays 
No matter what the charts declare, can't give that shit away 
But the hen’s keep on a-layin'
As the inventory keeps decayin'
My hair is prematurely grayin'
Punk is dead is what I'm sayin', yeahhhhhh

So, I say fuck the new millenium as the notes all turn to dust
I am only gonna say it thrice the music's such a bust
Toast the final curtain call 
As the grooves come to an end

Shake a leg like it's '59 
Love in like it's 1969 
Break out like it's 1989
One last party like it's 1999 again

PARTY (Like It's 1999 Again).WAV

Shannon O'Riley, my son Russell and I jammed this live.
Bass was added the next day.
Lyrics were done on the fly, live, and haven't been written up until today.

Way Down There

Wow my baby down along the shore
Hugged her till she could not take no more
Said no more unless you marry me
So I swam right out across the sea

Don’t take me down to that nuptial bed
If I go there I might as well be dead
Might as well be dead

Swam way out across the ocean wide
As I lay drippin’ on the other side
Another woman said man please marry me
And I swam right back cross that open sea

Woman do not show me that nuptial bed
I feel the foetus and I want to be dead
Want to be dead

I feel like I want to be dead
I feel like—

Held on closely to that sandy shore
(didn’t ask me for one thing more)
felt the sand a rollin’ over me
say this the perfect place to be

Don’t take me to that nuptial bed 
Oh man I feel as if I might as well be dead
Don’t take me to that nuptial bed
Oh man I feel as if I might as well be dead

Don’t take me way down there
don’t make me die amongst yer crazy hair
Don’t make me
Don’t take me way down there 
Oh don’t take me way, way down there

Ocean… take me in
The only place I have not permanently been.

Shards

Way Down There

In 1989, when she was two and a half, my daughter looked out the kitchen window to see cows in our vegetable garden. 'CWOWS!' she yelled.
I wrote a poem about it which Arthur Mook edited for music, which he provided. Background vocals are by Art, lead by Bill White, whom I happen to be.
Cows (song version)

Well cows, in the yard, make gardening hard.
They'll eat up your spinach and poop on your cabbage—

And when spring arrives they'll eat up your chives 
Step on potatoes and squash your tomatoes
Zuchinni, no jest, they will eat up with zest;
and pumpkins get devoured, and pooped out by the hour.

Methane! Mama's by the door while the cows are eating corn! 
Sipping ethyl in the shade while the methyl's being made!  
Tell your sons and daughters why the planet’s getting hotter! Methane! 

Well beans and peas a cow can eat with ease,
she’ll eat a cucumber and take an hour’s slumber—

She'll have a quick radish crunch before she eats her lunch,
while a turnip or swede will have her mooing with greed.
A chilli attack or a light pepper snack
before she locks horns on the last ear of corn.

Methane! Mama's by the door while the cows are eating corn! 
Sipping ethyl in the shade while the methyl's being made!  
Tell your sons and daughters why the planet’s getting hotter! Methane! 

She'll crop the crisp shoots from the beetroot
and chomp up the loquats and spit out the pips.

Well don’t look now, but we got funky cows. 
Don’t ask how, but we got funky cows.
Well don’t look now, but we got funky cows.
Don’t ask how, but we got funky cows!

COWS (methane)

I started out as a poet, and that's what I am, essentially.

KingscoteKid

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