Running in the morning light
Trying to catch a falling tide
Running in the morning light
Pressure out the window
Running in the morning light
Trying to catch a seed of time
Running in the morning light
Pressure…

Look - I’m not particularly deadly
Though I carry arms I’m not afraid to use
Being I’m a doer, I be doing
Balls deep, clambering the cliffs in a scruffy set of shoes.
So don’t invite me to your poncy little dinner
Though I am pretty handy with your codes
Stick me in the cellar with the swingers
They are more my scene
Come strip me of my clothes…
Cos I can hold a pose for minutes, even hours
But eventually something sours
Something flings itself around in me
Yelling ‘Now it’s time to frigging wriggle out your trousers
pulling people out their pouches’
Running in the morning light…
The marshland couldn’t give a frig for me
It is a space out of history
Bury my visage in its mudholes
And when the day rises I have struck gold…
Geese fly in celebration
That’s my church
I prefer the wind over any kind of audience
When I chat my words
I launch my soul
People say there’s madness in the heat of my performance.
Maybe so.
Maybe there’ll be sorrow on my deathstone
Maybe I’ll be geriatric nutter bombing Tesco.
At least I’ll have been honest from the get-go
I’m honestly the opposite of London

Running in the morning light
Trying to catch a falling tide
Running in the morning light
Pressure out the window
Running in the morning light
Trying to catch a seed of time
Running in the morning light
Pressure…


Daddy was a preacher man
He preached the Holy Ghost at peace protests
We reclaimed the streets together
Sweet Moses part the asphalt
Tell it like a town crier
Light the fuse
They will never televise the news
All he taught me
He born in 1940s
Truths that he had to fight to find
Me born in Thatcherite decline
Same appetite for life
I learnt sanity from Catcher In The Rye
Now the stamina is mine
The wild animus
The caravan standing in the vines
The grizzly bear is mine
The piston and the steam
Forever back in Bristol in my dreams
And the world is often ending in them
And that is often cause for joy.
I’m back in adolescence in a wall of noise
Banging a snare drum
Clocking how they murder us slow
Dad come:
We’ve got further to go…

Running in the morning light
Trying to catch a falling tide
Running in the morning light
Pressure out the window
Running in the morning light
Trying to catch a seed of time
Running in the morning light
Pressure…