she said to me ‘let’s have an affair’. i said ‘no, i really do not care to’. then, walking on my own to my b&b bed with my head full of grape, and the stones in the walls of the town hall here kind of proud all peering down upon me, holding out my phone trying to send a lonely text to my wife i expect is asleep in our home in a flat on a street, where the brick’s red and the road’s raging - a world away from the place that i find myself in; dead calm evening in a land where i can’t understand what they’re saying, but they’re paying me fair and they feed me for the singing of a song or two, it’s easy, every day is new, pack the car, play another gig. living life like a hammer on the hunt for the heads of nails sticking out of front doors. not sure much of anything, but hope in the end that i might just win, or at least find a certain kind of peace or reason in a world that at times seems so wrong. it was a cold day for rain but it came all the same; real harsh and hard and mean. so i popped the collar on my long coat, and i hoped that my lover lays warmly as i lean on the wall of the old town hall with a match in my hand, and a smoke in the cleave of my lips where my teeth show - near white as the eyes at a freak show, or the moon all ridiculous and low like the hopes of a lot of us far away from home.
and holding on, sunless in the eve, marble is the bowl overhead - over old skull. well, be well, winter wins again - sick horse slip away - forever grey underneath canopy of clouds. long may the art forgers applaud their tricks, naive. dappled underneath a breeze, curling as a column might fall when a building
gets bombed. And the old ‘hold hands’ in the end meant nothing at all. folded when it came it could’ve been like the ashen in the hue all spiralling down. let the faces be the difference - not offending anyone. opposite the wall it could have been the way a wave breaks - never in the same place - big fake smiles win. levelling a clear ground, build frame, shake hand; face in the mirror make - face
in the clone.
supported by 4 fans who also own “hammer on the hunt”
Sometimes you come across an artist that is compelled to do what they do.
I appreciate the musicality and the arrangement and the artistry of the songs. He sings and plays like his life depends on it. I appreciate the humanity of the lyrics… Like reading Tortilla Flats, or watching Nobody’s Fool.
Ceschi is a bright star. I’m glad he’s loose in the world. oldtruck
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