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letra de 2. waverley steps - fish

at the back of the train he stares out the window
the carriage is empty, commuting is done; it’s the end of the line
grasping for memories, searching for landmarks in fields once familiar
he can’t recognise now the hedgerows are gone the blackbirds have flown silencing song
this wasteland belongs to a murder of crows

the hills are now levelled, the rich soil is stolen
the green belt unbuckled, dirt yellow behemoths belch smoke at the sun
stark wooden crosses mark out the boundaries; parcels of promised land p-ssed on by greedy hands
selling dreams almost true, a show house on view, a country domain in all but name as the country’s gone

his fingers brushed the sticky beards of the barley
pulled tubers from the fragrant furrowed earth
sn-tched berries from twisted briars, plucked apples from witchy trees
before the snakes took over paradise and the black dog first appeared

back in the day with no cares and no worries it was just about being alive
holding his own out drinking the other guys, dancing alone on the floor
popping the pills swallowing medicine, life was just p-ssing him by
sleeping in alleyways, waking with strangers, staring at ceilings avoiding their eyes
he’d fight his own shadow, accepting the beatings and come back asking for more
scared of no one except himself, if he could only just be somebody else

he hid in his heart alone in the darkness and fought back the tears from his eyes
the weight of his world the heaviest burden, crushing his chest and his mind

out of dreams are born everything, out of hope comes the light
he woke up to the vision chased the dog to the night

homed in on the goal he took off like a rocket; hit the targets he set out to achieve
he’d arrived on the scene like a well-timed explosive; the compet-tion was all blown away
high on the crest of a wave of champagne, grabbing the headlines seizing the day
taking his bows to a wall of applause his charm and his guile the key to opening doors
racking up bonuses, counting the spoils he was a fast track mean millionaire
lost in a blind of success and ambition he didn’t belong anywhere

he hid in his heart alone in the darkness and fought back the tears from his eyes
the weight of his world the heaviest burden, crushing his chest and his mind

sometimes dreams are not everything, sometimes hope’s out of sight
held in the realm of the helpless in the jaws of the dog in the night

desperate for love, a guardian angel to seal up the cracks in his soul
to build him a home, lighten his burden to ward off the dog from his door

she appeared in a sun-kissed field, wildflowers in her hair
with a black hound beside her of which he wasn’t aware

they married on an island under blue skies
it wasn’t long before the clouds arrived
it rained down broken bottles the blood flowed with the wine
the arguments more bitter their love soured over time

the black dog lay between them every evening
in the silence there were no words that could be said
the bonuses were missing, the cheques had disappeared
there was no fight left within him it was time to take his leave

the unborn child was counted as a blessing
the curse of lies a testament of hate
the dogs of war were gathered the lawyers loosed from chains
to strip him of his dignity and tar him with the blame

he left the house in the twilight of a morning
his briefcase in the unlocked cabriolet
resigned from lost positions, retiring from the fray
a rucksack of possessions all he dared to take away
abandoning the memories
he stole away

he stepped off the grid fell out the system
pitched up his life in a derelict siding, rusting under the stars
gathering strawberries, plundering apple trees he lived of the land as the moons crossed the skies
in the first winter sun, with the fires dead and gone, the black dog returned
he followed the rails to the bright city lights

from the waverley steps he stares at the station
tied to the black dog faithful beside him at the end of the line
catching the coins from wary commuters tossed to the hollow of a long empty coffee cup
counting the cost of all that he’s lost, all that sustains
while snowflakes melt softly on the cold steel rails

- fish

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