It seems like an odd thing to say
But I've rediscovered lyrics.
Of late they've been too honest.
Too hard-hitting. Too mystic.
But last night, on Great Russell Street,
As I did my best not to slip,
The Hold Steady came on Spotify
And I didn't reach to skip.
I've spent most of my illness
With Mogwai my best friend.
They make the world seem beautiful
Even when I've seen the end.
I carry them around with me
Every hour of every day.
I have a Mogwai Young Team tat;
A shoulder-based Long Play.
But back to Craig Finn's words of wonder.
Let's celebrate his wit.
With the tragicomic Charlemagne
And his crude attempts to fit.
The song that made me think again
Was track 3 from album 1.
With the girl who tastes like pickle chips
And kids' calls for Born To Run.
Yet all this time that words have hurt
I've found solace in the best ones.
Like the stories Stuart Murdoch tells
In the Belle & Sebastian canon.
And it was only just last Friday,
When asked for my top three bands,
That Ian Dury & The Blockheads
Made it onto pondering hands.
So what of this? What does it mean?
Of words I've spoken freely.
A fragile mind tends not to deal with
That which is touchy feely.
But since I've started this here blog,
Lucidity's come forth.
I'm just starting to see the sun
Even when I'm facing north.
