1. |
Lance Armstrong
02:36
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Ask me how I’m feeling
I’m freewheeling
Where I come from, we don’t know how to lose
Call it a seventh sense
measured in dollars and cents
If you don’t like it, read the name on the soles of my shoes
The gun goes off in my head
It’s the sound I dread
The leader or the led? All eyes are on me
Time to go out in style
To ride one last trial
Ninety seven miles to the Champs Elysées
Hurt lasts a minute, a day, a year of pain
Losing lasts until you win again
Who can ever know
What makes a good man throw
Everything aside for the sake of winning?
Still the darkness grows
Through my skin and bones
I’m a man more sinned against than sinning
What’s turning these wheels
Blood sweat and steel
A heart that cannot feel itself pumping
It’s nothing if not real,
The pedal and the wheel
Ask me how I feel, I feel nothing
Cover yourself in glory and it’s never enough
When you’ve made the money, you can do it for love
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2. |
Jack London
02:36
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Jack London (1913-1964)
The spindle goes around
A linen sheet hangs down from the wall
He opens his mouth
But doesn't make a sound at all
Focus on the challenger, cut to the crowd
Back to the ring, microphone drops down
Touch of the gloves, stand face-to-face
The picture wavers, stalls and shakes
He waves his fist at us, and walks away
Her cigarette burns down
She waits outside the chapel in the rain
It's taking too long
But she keeps them all waiting just the same
Stops to remember a day long gone by
She takes a deep breath, then steps inside
He's still in uniform, she's dressed in white
If you do something, then do it right
The war is over, now it's time to fight
The boys over here were too easy to beat
Too straight with the left, too slow with the feet
Knock them down and be sure to retreat
To a neutral corner
She thanks you for your time
And shuts the door behind you as you leave
You can worry all you like
But she's not the one who's crying, actually
Everyone's waiting to shake your hand
And talk about the time they saw your old man
Down the gym or at the Albert Hall
You know he wouldn't be impressed at all
He'd say: “You see one bloody fight, you've seen them all.”
The boys over here were too easy to beat
Too straight with the left, too slow with the feet
Knock them down and be sure to retreat
To a neutral corner
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3. |
Bones
02:28
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Wednesday night in the Hare and Hounds
Upstairs, fifty chairs, entry two pounds
Janet on the door says there’s room for more
So get your arse inside and sit it down
Floor singers welcome if you sign the sheet
Get up onstage or else sing from your seat
Don’t be scared, Janet says, we’re all here
To sing and play, so get up on your feet
Here’s a farmer marching off to fight Napoleon
And a servant girl, big with the master’s wain
A rebel named McCann headed for Van Diemen’s Land
In three verses and a chorus, you can make them live again
Let their bones speak tonight
Let them whisper, let them cry
Sing their blues like you’ve walked in their shoes
Let their bones speak tonight
Ballads, Irish sentimentals, any style
Rock’n’roll, music hall, make us cry or smile
Sing one of your own if it makes you feel at home
We’ve not had a new Bob Dylan for a while
Janet used to sing the blues while Johnny played the slide
But now she just listens, ever since old Johnny died
Soon we'll all be gone, all that’s left will be the song
Sing it loud if you can’t sing it right
Here’s a cotton weaver and a cotton picker
A fishergirl and a coal miner’s wife
A lonely dockside whore, a dustbowl troubadour
A ploughboy, a cowboy, you can bring them back to life
Let their bones speak tonight
Let them whisper, let them cry
Sing their blues like you’ve walked in their shoes
Let their bones speak tonight
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4. |
Napoli
02:10
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The last breath of a hurricane
Howls across the ocean
The men are busy praying
Because they can’t hear the engines
They’re saying, we don’t have a hope
Of rounding Portland Bill
It’s not worth a sailor’s life
It’s just money in the till
There’s whispers on every front porch
As midnight comes around
Fathers and their eldest sons
Try to leave without a sound
But the whole town is on the move
By the dark of this new moon
They scale the cliffs, no time to lose
Another storm is coming soon
They dream like Devon men of old
Of treasure without title
They comb the beach in search of gold
Or German motorcycles
The finest of Italian wines
It’s a pleasure to relate
This year I’ll give my Valentine
A diamond from the Cape
Her Majesty’s Receiver
With the sheriff by her side
Can’t believe it when they see
What’s washed up on the tide
With torches flashing in your eyes
Be off with you, they yell
But when they knock off work tonight
they’ll be down here themselves
You can call us scavengers
And you can call it greed
Let’s raise a toast to the deadly storm
That sank the good ship Napoli
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5. |
The Fiddler
01:51
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Ladies, make your entrance
Gents, please take a bow
We thank you for your patience
The fiddler's ready now
The dance shall commence
Not a moment too soon
Say a grace unto the saviour
And raise a glass to the moon
Prick your ears up for the fiddler
He's the finest in the land
Form two lines down the middle and
Take your ladies by the hand
Chaisse, swing and pas-de-bas
Perform the demi-chaîne
Kiss the dancer on your left
And fill your glass again
Dance to the fiddle
Form a square or form a ring
Rince-fadas, quadrilles
Then I'll step out front to sing
A sad one for the ladies
While you men have one more drink
And when you've had your fill
I'll be waiting in the wings
They always have a word for me
It doesn’t take them long
to offer me a favour
If I'll sing them one more song
Give a penny to the fiddler
I tell them, one two three
Wait till your husband's on the floor
I'll sing to you for free
ladies, make your entrance
Gents, please take a bow
We thank you for your patience
The fiddler's ready now
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6. |
Three Metres Below
02:11
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There’s a wall over there to keep out the sea
The soil and the seed from washing away
Three metres down in a sugar beet field
I can’t speak the language, no one knows my name
They lock all the doors when the night shift comes in
To keep us from running, but where would we go?
We're already drinking, and thinking of home
But we all smell of fear, three metres below
You learn to be quiet when you're ten to a room
You rise with the moon; the morning's so cold
Your clothes are all stolen, ragged and old
You’ve been bought and sold, three metres below
It's breakfast in Boston at the Three Lions cafe
Cold English eyes are staring our way
We still have our pride, we don't look away
Don't look away, don't look away
Then onto the flatbed and back to the fields
Shoulder the wheel all night and all day
You don't see your pay, it goes straight to the masters
But none of this matters, three metres below
I keep seeing faces that I knew from before
When I ran from the law on all sides of the border
Now I'm taking orders and counting the change
Here comes the rain, three metres below
Then it's breakfast in Boston at the Three Lions cafe
Cold English eyes are staring our way
We still have our pride, we don't look away
Don't look away, don't look away
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7. |
Gravity
02:29
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It's so early in the morning
It might as well be last night
And you don't know if it's dawn
Or someone else's bedroom light
You're looking at the ceiling
And counting all the cracks
The wallpaper's peeling
And the paint beneath it's black
You seem to have the feeling
Time's stopped in its tracks
And that's that
When you're waiting at the station
And time flows by like glass
And in your observation
Every second's like the last
Everyone is sleeping
No one's on the move
You want to take a flying leap
There's nothing else to do
The second hand is creeping
Backwards, just for you
And that's true
(No no no) it's all lies
It's just an illusion
Due to boredom and the rain
Close your eyes
And take a look at the view
At the top of this mountain range
Put the champagne
On ice to chill
To soothe your savage breast
Then point yourself downhill
And let gravity do the rest
Back at school they'll tell you
Keep both feet on the ground
And this old fool's behind you
Saying slow down slow down
Slow down slow down
But you're doing just fine, thank you
Your time is now
The southbound train is running
No leaves on the track
You're heading for the mountains
Your suitcase is on the rack
If you want thrills
If you want spills
it's best not to forget
To point yourself downhill
And let gravity do the rest
(for Alex, April 2008)
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8. |
American Whisky
03:02
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These days I don't know who to believe
I can't remember what I've done or where I've been
And I don't recognise who's lying next to me
But I don't mind, it's just the way it seems to be
These days this is how the story goes
She wakes up with a start, but dresses slow
In another room (or is it on the radio?)
She calls out my name, and sings sweet and low
I owe it all to American whisky
The kind that you don't hold up to the light
Purse your lips and sniff and savour
The water of life? You just drink all night
I try to say Goodbye, but the moment's passed
I'll tell you this for nothing, nothing ever lasts
My grip on what is real is slipping fast
So I'd better reach for the glass
These days I've just got used to seeing
Headstones where my friends all used to be
There's an old man in the mirror staring back at me
And someone in the hallway who's just about to leave
I believe in American whisky
The kind that you don't hold up to the light
Purse your lips and sniff and savour
The water of life? You just drink all night
© Jon Horne 19.2.08
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Jon Horne Edinburgh, UK
Chronicling the folibles of the age via the medium of contemporary folk song since
2005.
All the music here is homemade and is provided free.
Even rougher recordings can be found at hornesdemoshop.bandcamp.com
... more
Jon Horne recommends:
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Until we get the new one from Whitby's finest.
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That Petrol Emotion's songwriters, these days going for the longer, groovier burn.
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Mostlamouratée
by MAUD OCTALLINN
Twee, French, surprisingly great.
go to albumIf you like Jon Horne, you may also like:
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featured on Bandcamp Radio Sep 21, 2021
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