Within Pissing Distance of the Motorway

Back on the road for work next week …

Hotel

A long way from home. A lost, single soul in a world of lost, errant souls – lost from those they love, but all the road with purpose in their white vans or company cars, builders, salesfolk – the wandering workers of the world in their twilight world. Working far from home, livinh in « cheap » and « modular » hôtels. Plastic rooms all neat and scaled into little cubes and slid into concrete skeletons. Fitted boxes with all mod cons – but basic.

The modern hotel on the edge of the « edgelands », cast out of the downtown and thrown up on the wrong side of the tracks, within pissing distance of the motorway, between the shopping mall and the industrial estate. Thses places of no soul for errant souls and lost souls, lost in the week for the ones they love.

Hotels in lost lands.

For the Benefit of …

Written a little poem for amateur Saturday night rockers everywhere. Enjoy.

 

Benefit Gig (For the benefit of no-one)

Dead beat gig,

On the dead side of town,

Benefit,

For the benefit of no-one around.

Outside it’s polar

The fans have stayed home,

TV and takeaways

And who, in their right mind would come

To hear Jurassic classics

When it’s nine below zero ?

And too cold

For has been Rock and Roll heros.

In this municipal,

Function

Facility

Wrong side of the tracks,

By the cemetery.

Here we are,

On the Dark Side of the Moon,

Thumping out our tired old tunes.

There’s still Smoke on the Water

And I’m paranoid

But it’s all right now,

Here’s another Pink Floyd.

Another bloody brick

In another bloody walL

A benefit gig in a council hall.

Benefit

For the benefit of no-one around

Saturday night

On the dead side of town.

We play for all causes,

The best and the lost.

We play

Anywhere,

Anytime,

Any cost.

For musical purpose

We are almost unfit.

But who cares ?

It’s just a benefit.

So never mind the bollocks

If it rocks and it rolls

We give it our heart

We give it our soul.

And it scrapes along the bottom

And limps it to the bridge

That’s as far as we can take it.

That’s the end of the gig.

Dead beat gig

On the dead side of town

Benefit,

For the benefit of no-one around

In this municipal

function

facility

Wrong side of the tracks

By the cemetery ,

Now the music’s over,

Turn out the light

On the would be has beens

Of Saturday night

Time to unplug

Hump the amps to the car

Rub some ointment on my cramps

And a drunk at the bar

Says

« You ain’t bad, for guys of your age. »

Against all the odds

We still make the machine rage.

And though the words are slurred

It’s still good to hear

Even if the guy’s high on

Bourbon, scotch and beer.

Tired Saturday rockers,

Unfit for purpose

Long time since we left the Rock ‘n’ Roll circus.

But here we are, clowns,

Still clowning around

Pumping out our seventies sound,

Benefit

For the benefit of no one around