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TALK LEFT WALK RIGHT

by Ben Gunstone

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1.
Rust 05:33
I’m still looking for that dark, dark green Hanging low on late August wheat The trailing blue sky’s bathing black I’m stepping forward; I’m looking back These are rust days Look how far we’ve come These are rust days Do you know where we’re from? Know where we belong We can run for the plain We can run for the sun We can run for there is Time to come The shadows lengthen, longer now Twilight held on Autumn cloud The leaves are falling; the lime is last Tomorrow’s too late now; I’m in the past I’m still looking for that dark, dark green Hanging low on the curves at her feet The withered true sky’s under attack From storms electric a long way back These are rust days Look how far we’ve come These are rust days Do you know where we’re from? Know where we belong.
2.
Are you ordinary or intruder? Early Jacobean? Late Tudor? Are you Simon? Are you Peter? The girl with early computer? The stage blocks, extra playtime - This our fortress in the pale sunshine. How quickly changing, the battle raging When you’re tasting the scent of power. Are you ordinary or intruder? The frail boy who lost his sister? He was the last to surrender, He was ordinary not intruder. The sky’s grey love, The wood pigeon or the collared dove? Are you ordinary or intruder? It’s brutal learning murder. Are you ordinary or intruder? Do your best and try to remember. Are you ordinary or intruder? The robin, swift or kingfisher? Are you Simon? Are you Peter? It’s early, late September. The sky’s grey love, The wood pigeon or the collared dove? We never change, Our childhood every day. Are you ordinary or intruder? Are you Babel? Are you Pisa? Are you Lasker or Capablanca? Do your best and try to remember. Are you ordinary or intruder? Early Jacobean? Late Tudor? Are you Simon? Are you Peter? The girl with early computer? Are you ordinary or intruder? Do your best, try to remember.
3.
On the slopes of Chamonix In the garden of Gethsemane Between the lines you wrote to me I will haunt you when I’m gone. St Agnes and St Genevieve The Book of Deuteronomy All there to help me To haunt you when I’m gone. All the years of wasted living All the ways of wasted winning All the years of wasted, leaving love. All the years of wasted living All the ways of wasted winning All the years of wasted, leaving now. Through thorn and winter gorse Beyond the black dog and white horse The four winds’ cold divorce Will haunt you when I’m gone. Rebecca sitting at the well, Guarding the keys to hell, There’s nothing to tell, I will haunt you when I’m gone. All the ways of wasted living All the ways of wasted winning All the ways of wasted, leaving love. All the ways of wasted living All the ways of wasted winning All the ways of wasted, leaving love.
4.
Trowbridge town, Trowbridge town On the banks of the Biss Shallow that dirty river Like a streak of piss. The county town, Trowbridge town Where day is black as night And winter comes in spring With a bunch of aconites. Trowbridge town, bent old town A monkey for a bribe To nail a blue cat son To hang him till he died. Trowbridge town, crooked town Yes, it did for young poor Tom, As the mill burnt in flames. He slept a drunken song. For the want of blood, they got it quick But no one saw Tom there, Least of all Read and Heath In that blazing summer air. In Trowbridge town. The barley, fleece and crown Respice, prospice, send us down. In Salisbury sat the jury That’s who they claimed to be Ten bare minutes it took them To find the young the boy guilty. And if he knew more truth Tom didn’t say a word, But sat and lonely listened And the world outside just heard. Mr Garrow was his counsel As thick as shipyard oak To the gallows went a boy His defence barely spoke. The night before his death Tom wrote his kith and kin Sending love and hoping The Lord would save his soul from sin. But the good Lord’s judgement Tends to favour those Who suffer not from war and loss And all poverty exposed. So came the day a Trowbridge son Was sent to the rope to die On his nineteenth birthday For someone else’s crime. At the bleak and lonely side Of a bleak and lonely road, A body hanged, a body hung And so the story’s told. But they carried Tom across the plain Back to Trowbridge town, So you and I, the sons of others Can lay our flowers down. The barley, fleece and crown Respice, prospice, send us down The barley, fleece and crown Mea culpa – send us down. Lie on the chalk hills and gaze at the moon Count the stars with a daisy We’ll be all stars soon. Like two lovers we’ll lie Like two lovers, we’ll break down and cry. Wiltshire boy, Wiltshire boy, Wiltshire boy, it’s in every line you thought It’s in every chalk path you walk Wiltshire boy It’s in every single battle you fought Wiltshire boy Wiltshire boy. Trowbridge town, my home town Or as close as I will get, In there many cousins That I have never met. This old town, red brick town Its soul as dark as lead, Days built of ashes Of the living and the dead. By thick of night Trowbridge town In rain stained streetlight red, The lanes shiver low, The thunder’s overhead. In the streets of English towns Old cries still you’ll hear The groan of broken children And the wind howls in your ears. I left that place years ago As they pulled the old ways down But when I wake in a cold sweat sleep That old town haunts me now.
5.
I gathered my men Cherry-Garrard and Crean Left the dogs and explorers Headed west out to Indian Queens Trading my cousin’s ashes For a jug of coffee and cream On that bleak stretch of road Just short of Indian Queens The damage was boats It’s a heavy machine A surge of green water Sinking ships And surfacing submarines The salt winds are blowing west For you I nearly did my best Of Spanish descent I fell in love with a girl Her father was jealous Zealous, Ain’t that the way of the world? The bells of St Tudy Peel o’er the lea I got you in my heart Her in my head And The Devil’s Jump in front of me I gathered my men Knispel, Hartmann, Prien Through the wolves to the waves Changed course East a quarter north Backing south, Indian Queens The salt winds are blowing west For you I nearly did my best I used to be scared I used to be free Now I’m just stunned Dumb, numb and on the run To Indian Queens You can measure success Whatever that means By the hours you spend As yourself without pretending To be I gathered my men Irving and Mallory We scaled the moor Til the storm broke forth Eight fathoms short Indian Queens The salt winds are blowing west For you I nearly did my best Life hangs limply From an elder tree Drawn and quartered It’ll sing in a whisper The robin’s lullaby to me My time has been good My time has been lean My time’s nearly up now Maybe I’ll see you Down in Indian Queens.
6.
Under willows, the River Ouse I’m talking May, maybe June 1922 – ish. Ich bin nicht (blue) BA11 1EU Am I sounding clear? Am I getting through? On Chesil Beach A blue-green hue I’m looking for Jurassic clues When from the gloom stepped Billy Bragg and his dog Or was it Jacob Rees Mogg? It’s hard to tell in a sea fog who’s who. We all do Talk left and walk right. I sold my house And made some money. Now I divide my time Between Padstow and Burundi. Aah – the festival season’s here I can’t wait to see Glastonbury on the BBC When the A37 is closed. We talk left and walk right.
7.
The moonlight on the cold sea ‘Mummy’, whispers child, But the boat is empty, sinking And the sea is black and wild. Gentle God, meek and mild Spare a little mercy. The sea gives up its dead Red t-shirt on Turkish sand, Children judged by what deed Will never rise from this land. There is only hell in these hands And bloodshed. The stars are high; the stars are fire. Is there still moon Over mire? The eyes are deep and black and tight And wide in deathly stares, Scraps of human rags In ancient city squares. Our failures theirs And the sea is cold tonight. The stars are high; the stars on fire. Where is the moon Over mire?
8.
I stood between the shore and the water Your eyes, pale as sand. You ran to me like a daughter With early violets in your hand. Our sweet sun set below the briar Damsel flies on flowering rush The swallows gather on the wire And they are gone in the September blush. Tomorrow and its cause Greater than us all I love you now and til the day I’m done Twilight’s lonely course Closer than we thought I love you now and til the day I’m done. The moon is rising in the twilight Above the church where we were blessed. I brought us wood for the fireside The leaves are as dark as they’ll get. I am standing on field at midnight The frost is thick around my shoes. I gathered everything of you around me Here until the night turns blue. Tomorrow and its cause Greater than us all I love you now and til the day I’m done The twilight’s lonely course Closer than we thought I love you now and til the night is dawn The cross is elder borne The staff is made of thorn The ever-blackening tor above us In the rain is torn The snow that softly falls Rarer than the call Of wild drifts of heavens beyond its ragged shore.
9.
Me Of Course 05:27
I blame the Christian I blame the Jew I blame the Muslim The heretic and you I blame anything and anyone But myself, of course. I blame the parent I blame the law I blame the system That believes in itself at all I blame anything and everyone But myself of course. What a wonderful world So pleased to be involved What a wonderful world Just let me get my excuses and go. It’s a world full of symbols Systems and signs It’s a world that barely dares To look you in the eyes It’s a world fit for no one But me of course. What a wonderful world So pleased to be involved What a wonderful world Just let me get my excuses and go. People full of pity For themselves they’re obsessed Reams of confession Yet all self-possessed By a dream that is flawed Vague and badly dressed In slim celebration Of its own weird success It’s a dream fit for no one But me of course. What a wonderful world So please to be on board What a wonderful world Just let me get my excuses and go. What a wonderful world So please to be on board What a wonderful world Just let me get my excuses and go. I blame the foxglove Crushed between my teeth I blame the breeze Blowing between my mother’s knees I blame the wealthy English south east I blame anything, anyone, everything But me of course But me of course.

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MADE IN WESSEX

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released October 1, 2019

Written by Ben Gunstone
Produced by Steve Evans and Ben Gunstone

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Ben Gunstone England, UK

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