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Protected: Pick Your Poison
Comments Off on Protected: Pick Your PoisonSeptember 26, 2013 / Rain -
Running Wild
Comments Off on Running WildAugust 14, 2013 / RainI was nineteen when I came to town, they called it the Summer of Love
They were burning babies, burning flags. The hawks against the doves
I took a job in the steamie down on Cauldrum Street
And I fell in love with a laundry girl who was working next to meOh she was a rare thing, fine as a bee’s wing
So fine a breath of wind might blow her away
She was a lost child, oh she was running wild
She said “As long as there’s no price on love, I’ll stay.
And you wouldn’t want me any other way”Brown hair zig-zag around her face and a look of half-surprise
Like a fox caught in the headlights, there was animal in her eyes
She said “Young man, oh can’t you see I’m not the factory kind
If you don’t take me out of here I’ll surely lose my mind”Oh she was a rare thing, fine as a bee’s wing
So fine that I might crush her where she lay
She was a lost child, she was running wild
She said “As long as there’s no price on love, I’ll stay.
And you wouldn’t want me any other way”We busked around the market towns and picked fruit down in Kent
And we could tinker lamps and pots and knives wherever we went
And I said that we might settle down, get a few acres dug
Fire burning in the hearth and babies on the rug
She said “Oh man, you foolish man, it surely sounds like hell.
You might be lord of half the world, you’ll not own me as well”Oh she was a rare thing, fine as a bee’s wing
So fine a breath of wind might blow her away
She was a lost child, oh she was running wild
She said “As long as there’s no price on love, I’ll stay.
And you wouldn’t want me any other way”We was camping down the Gower one time, the work was pretty good
She thought we shouldn’t wait for the frost and I thought maybe we should
We was drinking more in those days and tempers reached a pitch
And like a fool I let her run with the rambling itchOh the last I heard she’s sleeping rough back on the Derby beat
White Horse in her hip pocket and a wolfhound at her feet
And they say she even married once, a man named Romany Brown
But even a gypsy caravan was too much settling down
And they say her flower is faded now, hard weather and hard booze
But maybe that’s just the price you pay for the chains you refuseOh she was a rare thing, fine as a bee’s wing
And I miss her more than ever words could say
If I could just taste all of her wildness now
If I could hold her in my arms today
Well I wouldn’t want her any other wayRichard Thompson, Beeswing
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Rain
Comments Off on RainJuly 2, 2013 / Rain“Just think,” the voice echoed in her head. “I could beat you to death, and he wouldn’t remember anything. He’d just… stare…”
Just think.
Just think.
Commotion. Yelling. Watch out! Is that her voice? There is sweat on her forehead. Tears in her eyes. Pain everywhere. And something is still pulling.
Just think. Just think. Just…
Darkness. The smell of upturned earth and rotting vegetation. A storm on the horizon. A presence nearby.
“You see what you’ve made me do? Now I have to teach you a lesson.”
“Nn..o… wait..!” Definitely her voice. “‘ve learned it. Please don’t. Please…”
Two cloaks. The glint of a weapon. More shouting. A name..? There was a name…no, no there wasn’t. Was there? Why can’t I remember? Just think. Just think.
Alone again. Everything hurts. Her skin, her bones, it all feels so dry and brittle. She is grateful for the drizzle that soaks into her clothing but the sun is dropping lower in the sky and the lengthening shadows are so cold. Why can’t I move? Ah. Ropes. Cold droplets pelt her from above. Her eyes burn, but there’s no moisture left for tears. How does she get out of this?
Jus’ think, Rain. Jus’ think.