I have included some lyrics here of some of my songs, so you can get an idea of what they're about.

Also, I kinda mumble a bit - so some people like clarification without asking.

Seven Days

This song is based on a true situation. A friend who, completing his PhD in Archaeology, decided that his study contradicted with his fundamentalist Christian beliefs. He threw in the towel on science to dig swimming pools for a living.

The bobcat moved right back against the neighbours fence
And the backyard was a bloody muddy mess
But the kids next year can have their holiday at home
Until they tire of that and continue to roam around the neighbourhood at night

And he wipes the back of his hands onto his King Gees
Thanks God Almighty he was not on his knees
Revealing bone after stone of evidence against
Every bone in his body in resistance

Buried under the rubble,
The truth when out is nothing but trouble
Living a life any case
Consistently Seven Days

Monday to Wednesday he�s excavating your backyard
To get it finished by the weekend really isn�t so hard
He sits on his esky has a cup of tea
There�s nothing down there he�d rather not see

On the seventh day he gives his bobcat a rest
While the yard�s left in a primeval mess
Squirming under the slime of the next season�s break
It�s only a job but it about as much as he can take.

Buried it under the earth
Drowning the clues can�t really hurt
The mud itself speaks and betrays
These fundamental seven days

All this dust to dust and primeval slime
It�s hard to take from time to time
But some things are built and meant to last
Like formwork concrete and fibreglass

And at night his dreams are haunted by the thoughts
Of swimming pools teaming with plesiosaurus
And every invoice the customer pays is received in seven days

And it makes about as much sense �Epre-fabricating evidence.


Glebe

If you are familiar with Glebe you will have noticed the inordinate number of dogs on Glebe Point Road.

The streets are stuccoed with chocolate cake they really are
That woman�s voice spells the afternoon pavement
Sweet like gelato on a summers day
Springtime never gets me feeling this way on a Sunday in Glebe
The first blue sky in May

Come on get in the car
Climb across the seat to 30 and driving yeah
Climb up beside me and get your timeing right
Tonight
Let�s grab a bite
Where cake ices the streets like tar
Come on get in the car

The window�s pile high with lamingtons it really is
That man�s lower abdomen growls down the stairs like a dog on a chain
Whisky and soda with nothing to gain
While we post our replies to the infirm and insane



Tourette�s Valentine

The end of a relationship song.

Tourette�s Valentine
I don�t think I�ve got the time anymore
To watch you parade across the floor
From the hotel toilet door

Say it again, and feel like a long lost friend
Say it again, like a bird leaves a shadow fly away
I can�t listen to another thing you have to say.

Tourette�s Valentine
I think I need another glass of wine
To swallow it all and yeah, I got that call.
But I�ll let the bastard crawl.


Freight Train

Another song about how living in the suburbs with your babe is not really my bowl of blancmange.

Park skirts the building
Chines statues by the path
Another morning
She�ll cross the lobby to her chair behind her desk
Waves him goodbye and all the rest
And the whole story starts turning once again

Across the city
On the travellator
He passes all the promises
Another meeting
He turns his mobile off and sighs
Sick to death of so many goodbyes
And the whole story starts turning once again

And once again his tiny broken promises
Are unravelling her love and affection
Does a freight train really need a sign post
To point it in the right direction
Think about it friends

Another evening
She sips her coffee by the phone
Another dinner spoiled
He�s meeting someone for a drink
Didn�t have time to stop and think
And the whole story starts turning once again

A suburban driveway
He rinsing suds off his 4 wheel drive
Another Sunday
She�s eating lettuce on her boyfriends advice
And he says she�s starting to look quite nice
And the whole story starts turning once again.

Park skirts the building
Joggers run across the grass
Another morning
She crosses the lobby to her chair behind her desk
Barely waves him goodbye and all the rest
And the whole story starts turning once again



Drive

Can�t get enough of live singer songwriters. I wrote this about my obsession with seeing the talented Melanie Horsnell play each week.

I took a deep breath the first time I ever heard you
And you caught my heart the very first time and I cried
And every night�s the same and I go out to see you
To wait in the dark and get in my car and drive

And I drive
In from the suburbs
Drive
Like I�m going back in time
Drive
With all your words inside me
You�re the soundtrack from Glebe Point Road to Ryde.

Life is good can�t seem to live it without you
Cause every street and wall is touched by your sound
Hi Fi CD, DVD technology Pshaw
Your warm heart is stitched upon your sleeve live


Bus Stop

I met a guy at a bus stop who I had known many years ago in Brisbane. I rarely meet people from the past, so it was quite weird for me. He had a lot of negative things happen to him (fights with ex-girlfriends etc) at bus stops and they inspired the song along with the fact that our friendship started there. He did melt away in the rain like a gingerbread man as predicted.

The tail lights of friendships spill into afternoon
On the side of the road to pick you up
At the bus stop there�s not drivers seat
One chapter opens and another one ends
By the breeze of the brakes and fair weather friends
Waiting for another day
And that grey to take you across the city
When carbon monoxide she steps in your heart
But she won�t give you a ticket and she won�t say she�s your friend
And all your dreams are red like stop lights stalled

Another day and swag of 15 years
On the side of the road I pick you up
At the bus stop there�s no drivers seat
One chapter opens and another afternoon
By the wheeze of the traffic and a Cole Porter tune
Waiting for another �in�Eto be here
On the carbon monoxide yellow brick road
You unlock my memories like a broken old gate
You buy me a ticket on the 178 to New Farm
And all my dreams end in a trail of tail lights again
In the city with a gingerbread man in the rain
At the bus stop there�s no drivers seat.


Ballad of Being Late

I wanted to write a folk ballad along the Anglo-Irish tradition. However with a contemporary context. My favourite Sydney band is Waiting for Guinness, their Klezmer tunes inspired the music.

Being for the ballad of being late
Being at the bus stop at a quarter past eight
And it�s a delicate moment of waiting with patience of standing in the rain
Watching the light wash away again and again
Like liquid down the street
Leaving me on my feet
At the bus stop
Late
At a quarter past eight
Being for the minutes spent in the night
Being for the taxi that flew past me through a red light
And every guilty moment that passes
Like empty glasses in a bar
Watching strangers befriend you in bar
Staggering before the hour past
Leaving me slow and the street is fast
At the bus stop
Late
At a quarter past eight

Wouldn�t you know, I�d be twice as slow
Like a foreigner taking a photograph
I�ll be generally taking up atmosphere
Like the moon�s ellipse around our ozone
As I go for my phone

Being for the ballad of being late
Being drenched by geraniums that grow by the gate
And it�s a carefully handled moment
Of tact and finesse
And it�s the act of arriving I�d much rather miss
Like an impending storm I�m all forlorn
At the bus stop
Late
At a quarter past eight.