The circle of a raven.

I've got something i need to tell you.
It's like the breaking of an apple, it's the eyes of a dingo before it sets itself upon you. There's an arrow in my spine from the bow of a lover I gave too much of my time. I feel the infection setting in with each spore blown by the endless wind. I don't want this to weep.
Sometimes I forget that I'm still living, holding on so tightly to memories that seem so empty. Empty are the spaces behind your eyes, I've looked so deep and still you were nowhere to be found. The sparrow has come home again, now the roads been replaced with secrets of a garden. It's walking so awkwardly, stumbling over forgotten memories. I can tell it cant breathe easily. Some things need to be forgotten, like the time you threw eggs because your mother had told you they'd gone rotten. I've misplaced my desire to smile back and spin laughter.
But its spinning on without me, ravens circle up above me.
Eager for me to stumble, eager for me to fall.

None of this.

In the window of the house, where i grew,
I came to face to face with a boy i once knew.

I cannot make this puzzle fit.
Each tired word lacks simple wit.
The garbage blows silent, down the street.

The mail hasn't been for seven days.
The silence grows, but still i wait,
I'm addicted, and I've barley had a taste.


I've tasted her lips, I'm terminally ill.
The carousel is spinning and the flowers petals wilt.

I'm reading faces on the train,
I feel my loss has been their gain,
and every where i go, their focus waits.

The wind blows the dirt off concrete streets,
I just hum along and move my feet,
and know that none of this is worth remembering.



There's a story told, about a boy that grew,
who lost the only person that he thought he knew.

Each puzzle piece he slowly fit.
He learned to love his simple wit.
But the garbage still blows silent, down the street.

The wind blows the dirt off concrete streets,
I just hum along and move my feet,
and know that none of this is worth remembering.

Why do i always feel so alone.

So insecure.

I'm going to end up reclusive,
Washed up, Uncut and hiring movies.

4.26am

This tune brings back memories of a time better left forgotten. now I'm awake, mouth half open. wandering aimlessly in thoughts i gassed long ago with the feelings. park benches of wood rotting so aimlessly. holding your hand before roll call, and waiting until the next time i could again. and your cold dead face, keeps smiling from beneath where my eyelids shade.sunlight through bus windows, we'd walk where the wind blowed, and every morning I'd wake for you.
photos of old souls entangled in shadows with lips locked like we were, like lovers, like we were.
now i can't walk straight, the re-occurring dreams keep my eyes from the sleep i crave
and i mourn for a time, I'll never get back,
the ex-lover is dead and so is what we had.

Still Untitled, a new song.

I wrote the tune for it today. I'm going to record it tonight.
I hope you enjoy it.
I was thinking of Toast for the title. What do you think?


I've got a tv set of silhouettes and a girl that don't run dry,
and this mystery of identity, gives meaning to this life,
if there's a city street, with someone new to meet, then i guess ill be alright.
the morning always follows the darkest nights.

i heard a strike, at the break of light, from a nearby neighbors lawn,
and the forest pain, is my pain when the branches break and fall,
the diamonds in your cutlery, had never shone so bright,
until you made me toast after I'd been throwing up all night.

there's a never-ending staircase in the pocket of my jeans,
there's a bag inside half empty, but the substance carries dreams.
I've got a paycheque in the mail, I've been waiting for, for weeks.
the mailman must be missing, or still asleep.

so this generations fucked of pills and depression soaks their shoes,
I've tried to get them walking, but their blisters are still new,
and our ham bones are so bare, i guess we'll have to make a soup.
or gnaw in awe at what we cannot chew.