The Freewheelin' Troubadour - The World Turns @ F L U

www.myspace.com/thefreewheelintroubadour
www.futurelondonunderground.co.uk/

Live at F.L.U clubnight, The Old Queens Head, Islington.

The marching man in the marching band,
plays his song and claps his hands,
my ghost draws traces in the sand,
the world it turns regardless.

A loveless bride to be she weeps,
unanswered calls from Shepherds sheep,
get herded down a path thats meek,
by using the same barber.

Half full or empty is indescript,
it holds irrelevance in this defining trip,
where tears down cheeks they slowly drip
try not to fall, but beware of the slip,
removed from your chest its your heart thats ripped,
The painting remains unsigned.

Women lose spines on Atkins diet,
tell their children to be quiet,
the angst-filled Anglophile starts a riot,
he gives the wall a pasting.

Them magazines make you see the way,
it is youre meant to be, they say,
just dont think twice and walk away,
the Priest will keep on preaching.

Jokers will always dent your pride,
whilst Thieves take call girls for a ride,
as curtains draw, he slips inside,
the sordid seeds theyre spreading.

Sav takes a pull and strums a tune,
as summer nights arrive too soon,
funeral attendees fill the room,
smoking cigarettes, re-doing lipstick.

The church promotes its faith as fact,
but I saw his imagine in a burlap sack,
Degenerated, and painted black
its statues weight is getting slack,
with healing hands, its knowledge they lack,
Bring the tray round, so I can sleep soundly.

A tramp is sick into a bin,
and begs forgiveness for his sin,
a worker sips his paint stripped gin,
holds signs that point to subway.

The sign points up, but life goes down,
as lost freewheelers roam this town,
one lengthy toke removes their frowns,
they no longer care where theyre going.

Kids get too much, wives not enough,
husbands build houses, then sleep out in the rough
if you cant smile then thats just tough,
you play the hand youre dealt with.

The concept of love leaving fit men blind,
better move it quick, dont get left behind,
wrap your own heart up in the ties that bind,
Gold diggers dig gold in abandoned mines,
hold lovers hands and stroll past pines,
Whats mine is yours and yours is mine,
Whats that? You dont like sharing? Fine.
My love has no conditions

As the sun may rise and suddenly fall,
and clouds shade shadows from the wall,
ill love all forever, and not at all,
still the world it turns regardless.

Category:

Music

Tags:

• Poetry
• Prose
• Stand-up
• Performing
• Arts
• Music
• Folk
• Unsigned
• Commentary
• Analysis
• Government
• Advice
• Wisdom