PSYVE- FIRST SAMPLER

VISIONS 
(A Journey in Three Acts)

© Cyrus Dali Vesuvala


Act-1: The Leaving

To the land of my fathers I now must return:
You know, it’s not that I care to roam.
Leaving you here, by your wheel and your urn-
Leaving love, leaving life, leaving home…
Yet, as evening must follow the morn,
All those visions, once bright, are now gone;
And the dim light of dusk is now turning to dark,
Yet I know that I must carry on-
I must carry on…

Act-2: The Realisation

Chasing faint echoes of memory through time,
I must search in the hope that I find.
As I come down the mountain, it crosses my mind
That I seek what I have left behind.
And the brightening that comes before dawn,
Brings on visions of men dead and gone-
All those heroes of legend have taught us no wrong 
When they say we must persevere on-
We must persevere on…

Act-3: The Return

Retracing my footsteps through wind and through rain,
Knowing soon I’ll be dry, I’ll be warm-
Now, as I lie down beside you again,
I know that I have finally found home.
And the piper returns to his horn,
And the tillsman comes back to the corn,
And those visions of old, which once drove me so cold,
Have forever and finally gone-
Yes, they’ve finally gone…

VISIONS (A Journey in Three Acts)

TO A BLIND FRIEND
© Cyrus Dali Vesuvala


She's not important anymore:
Things didn’t go the way that she foresaw-
See her lying on the floor
Couldn't hurt her more…

Words can't tell you how she feels…
She caught the wrong end of your deals-
You only need her for your thrills 
And feels…


TO A BLIND FRIEND

ALMOST "49": AN APOLOGY

© CYRUS DALI VESUVALA

You dropped them in their tracks,
Hit them harder than an axe,
Now I realize you did that without tryin'…
It was far, far too late
To save the fallen 48,
But I could stop becomin' "49" 
(Oh, I’d hate to be your number "49"…)

Saw them fallin’ to the floor,
Saw them comin'back for more,
Then I saw them come and stab you from behind-
Saw the hatred in their eyes,
But it made me realize
If I warned you, I’d be branded "49" !
(So the Man in the Moon turned blind…)

I never heard you weepin’
And I never heard you cryin’
Lord knows I never guessed just how low you were flyin’
Now I see you’re hurt as bad as all those people that you had,
And I’d only hurt you more as "49"…
(And I couldn’t bear to be so unkind…)


ALMOST "49": AN APOLOGY

PARTING SONG
© Cyrus Dali Vesuvala


Why is it that I must always end the things I start?
And why am I the only one who takes these things to heart?
And why is it that you don’t feel a part of what I feel?
And can you tell me if my hurt is real?


Why is it I always give much more than I intend?
And why am I the one who always gets hurt in the end?
And why is it that I’m the one who must apologize?
Why is there no sadness in your eyes?
…Baby, why is there no sadness in your eyes?


(* Blues Harp track courtesy Soddy Bottoms)

PARTING SONG

TWO DAY HIGH
© Cyrus Dali Vesuvala


Met only yesterday, unsettled the train:
Two-Day-High, hope we’re meeting again…
Dylan and Cohen and Bobby McGee,
Two-Day-High, you sure were like me.
I didn’t ask for you to come my way,
I’m asking you now, Two-Day-High, will you stay?
And, if you don’t want me, then don’t tell me why-
Just help me get rid of my Two-Day-High.


TWO-DAY-HIGH

DIDN'T THEY TELL YOU
© Cyrus Dali Vesuvala

Aint  it funny how you sold your soul
For a paltry bit of miser's gold?
Your eyes have died; your face is made of wood…
Didn’t they tell you now of Judas,
Didn’t the tell you how he would as
Soon have paid back twice the sum, if he but could?

Didn’t they tell you what would happen
To a ship without its Cap'n?
To a man who goes through life without a friend?
Didn’t you know you should not do it?
Didn’t you know that you would rue it?
Didn’t you know you'd have to pay up in the end?

Didn’t they tell you you wouldn’t make it?
Didn’t they tell you you couldn’t take it?
Now you know you're slowly going around the bend-
And, like a lamb that goes to slaughter,
Like a fish that's out of water,
You know now that you have really reached the end…
 
(INTERLUDE)

Aint  it funny how you sold your soul
For a paltry bit of miser's gold?
Your eyes have died; your face is made of wood…
Didn’t they tell you now of Judas,
Didn’t the tell you how he would as
Soon have paid back twice the sum, if he but could?

DIDN'T THEY TELL YOU?

PAGES
© Cyrus Dali Vesuvala

Is your mind an open book,
Can they look inside your head?
Do you only still show pages you want read?

What do you tell them when the Horror
Leaves you chilled and drenched in bed?
Are you still oppressed by dreams in Black and Red?

Have you found the man who’s shown you
How to overcome your dread-
Shown you how to pluck those pictures from your head?

Though you didn’t want to show me,
Yet, nights you shivered in my bed-
That’s when I had my first glimpse inside your head,

And now we’re both oppressed by dreams in Black and Red:
Yet, I just can’t tear your pages from my head…


PAGES

This one was written early one December morning, in a freezing cold train compartment, on my way home from College, during one of the winter breaks. 
Those were the days when, like most other students I knew, I generally travelled by what was politely called 2nd Class 3-tier, which basically meant the bogey was unheated and the bunk beds were 3-tiered wooden planks without any cushioning. 
It was a 24 hour journey in those days, and less than comfortable, but, as I recall, it was more than just the hard bunk bed and freezing temperatures inside that compartment that had kept me up this particular night.... 


CHRISTMAS MORNING
© Cyrus Dali Vesuvala

Train is slow,
Day is dawning-
Feeling low,
Can't stop yawning-
Four o'clock,
And I'm still up:
Christmas morning…


Dark ringed eyes,
Didn’t sleep now-
Quick good-byes,
I could weep now-
God, it's cold!
And I'm told
It's Christmas morning…


CHRISTMAS MORNING

NOVEMBER ’57 – MARCH ’80
© Cyrus Dali Vesuvala

She has a cancer in her brain,
And it’s driving her insane
Slowly, day by day by day by day by day by day... she says…

She tells me that she’s dying:
She has this cancer in her mind
Which her doctors cannot find…

She has no eyes, no tears to weep:
Her cancers run too deep-
She’s so tired, she cannot sleep…

She told me she was dying:
She had this cancer in her mind 
That her doctors could not find…


NOVEMBER '57 TO MARCH '80

BEST OF FRIENDS
© Cyrus Dali Vesuvala


We were lying in the grass,
We were talking of the past,
And I told you of my dad’s old steel rimmed glasses-
Then, you told me of the man 
With another in his hand,
And you couldn’t believe that he was making passes…


Then, you spoke to me of touch 
And you said it meant so much
To be touched when you are down or just plain lonely-
Now could that be the spark
Made you hold me in the dark-
Though you said you really loved your one and only…

Still, we’re the best of friends
And our friendship never ends,
It just grows deeper, though the river has its bends-
And, though I know
That you are another man’s,
Still, I thank the Lord that we’re the best of friends…

Side by side upon a plank,
Novice holding up the bank-
You’re like a stone, for reasons that you do not mention-
When you say you’d like to go,
I say: I’d really like to know:
Is it sleep, are you unsure of my intention?

A bit of both, you guess,
So I say: Well, thanks for being honest;
I’d like to see you once again before you go-
And, when you smile again
Oh, I am a happy man,
Though, now, that seems so very long ago…

Still, we’re the best of friends,
And our friendship never ends,
It just grows deeper, though the river has its bends-
And, though I know
That you are another man’s,
Still, I thank the Lord that we’re the best of friends…

MASK

APPLEWEED
© Cyrus Dali Vesuvala


PART I: GARDEN IN THE SKY

Exploding supernova in a Western sky:
Mystic dark portent, or the evil eye?
Seems every hour another star in our galaxy dies:
Tell me, where did all the Appleweed take root
In our garden in the sky?

Like faceless marionettes in some grotesque display,
Contorted caricatures from some frightening play;
Sometimes, it seems that all our dreams of Passion’s endless spark 
Are lost in green, or torn in twain, we take
Small solace in the dark…

My heart cries: Lovely Lady, don’t lose heart,
Don’t lose your peace of mind.
Don’t let yourself be torn apart,
Don’t leave this love behind.
Sometimes, you feel that on your part
You gave too much too free;
Lovely Lady, if you must lose heart,
Then please, re-lose your heart to me…

  

PART II: TWO STRANGE WORLDS 


My love lives in two strange worlds: in one, I’m just a fool:
One world short of Eden, one beyond Ultima Thule
One world where it’s difficult to predict day and night:
Confused by alternating tidal waves 
Of hate and love and spite…

And, in one of those two strange worlds, reality can bend;
Here, every argument’s a means to justify an end-
Through nights of helpless waiting, there is nothing I can do:
We never know, when I lie down with you,
Which world we’ll wake up to…

My heart cries: Lovely Lady, don’t lose heart,
Don’t lose your peace of mind.
Don’t let yourself be torn apart,
Don’t leave this love behind.
Sometimes, you feel that on your part
You gave too much too free;
Lovely Lady, if you must lose heart,
Then please, re-lose your heart to me…

Exploding supernova in a Western sky:
Mystic dark portent, or the evil eye?
Seems every hour another star in our galaxy dies:
Tell me, where did all the Appleweed take root
In our garden in the sky?


APPLEWEED

BLUE JEAN BOY
© Cyrus Dali Vesuvala

all those words
in your head-
why were they
never said?
you weren’t sure,
is that why-
were you just
far too shy?

now she’ll never
get to know
of the love
you didn’t show:
of the thoughts
kept inside,
feelings you
tried to hide-

yet, you lived
for those nights
when you’d be
by her side-
there was no
greater joy
than those nights
that she called you
her blue jean boy…

blue jean boy,
you’re playing a game-
but you don’t know the rules
and you don’t know the name;
blue jean boy,
you were just her toy-
still you remember those nights
she called you
her blue jean boy…

do you miss her
now she’s gone-
does your song
go on and on?
did she only
hurt your pride-
does your pain
go deep inside?

will you say
another word-
is there no more
to be heard?
and though you know
you couldn’t win,
would you do
the same again?


BLUE JEAN BOY

Performed using only a Yamaha Clavinova CVP 405 keyboard: no guitar...

FADED BLUE JEANS (Instrumental Version - Nov 2011)

I wrote the song originally in the autumn of 1994, but  never actually had a recording that I liked enough to post online till now.

THIS version was recorded by me on 26th Nov 2011,  using just my Yamaha Clavinova CVP 405 keyboard.

I think this now has the overall FEEL I  wanted convey with the original composition, so here goes...

-Psyve

© Cyrus Dali Vesuvala 1994

MANAMA BUSTLE

A singer-songwriter, with over four decades of songwriting experience, currently based in Gurugram, India 