Falsetto
I didn’t want to be here
I never liked your dad ‘cos he never loved the fact
That you were you
And you liked to sing falsetto
Which real men shouldn’t do
I’m mumbling through the hymns
I can see him now belt that nonsense out beside you
As you try to find a way to sing
That makes this thing ring true
Jesus, Jesus I need love
Not stuff about having faith in God
And Jesus, that would be enough
Talk of doing things through duty
Did no one like this man? Even his priest seems glad he’s gone
So I watch you simply bearing it
Hoping it won’t last too long
Jesus, Jesus he needs love
Not stuff about having faith in God
And Jesus, that would be enough—More Sword
Every Song’s The Same
Let me teach you how to write a song
The first line must be brief but strong
And the second line should rhyme
With something in your baby’s heart
Something that they know but cannot name
And in that way every song’s the same
Let me show you how to write a tune
The first note should mean the world to you
And the second one should come
Like an arrow out of a dream
Something only hit by the singer’s aim
And in that way every tune’s the same
So go ahead please, throw away the rules and seize
Whatever it is you need to say
Cos I’m dying here trying to find something that I can play
So let me hear it, play it loud
Pull me into that sweet sleepwalking crowd
With that single thing
That’s everything you’ve wanted to scream
Since the obscene beginning of time—More Sword
Bend To My Will
Wheel me to the theatre, it’s gonna be a ball
That shadow that shuts on life is the greatest love of all
I calculate some way to keep it still
Make the approaching panic that’s so keen to kill
Bend to my will
Strap me in and shut me up, bring the actors in
Two pills in a paper cup, here we go again
They swing out the big light I know the drill
But I won’t slip away from them, not until
They bend to my will
So I face the gaping lion’s mouth with a little grin
And I feel my body going south so I take the scenery in
They say there is a moment when you spill
But my only confession is I won’t leave her until
She bends to my will
—More Sword
Priscilla
Have you seen Priscilla
Was she trying to look away
From the pity in the mirror
Of your eyes as surprise held sway?
And did she look delightful
In that frightful kind of way
And could you still see the girl that loved me
After all that I carved away?
A fist clenched in my heart when I heard you say
“She has gone down the road called wrong”
So go right ahead and cast the blame my way
And when you saw Priscilla
Did you finally judge me
As the jailer and the killer
Of the glory she should be?—More Sword
I Hate Myself For Loving You
I hate myself for loving you
I hate that I am such a fool tryin’
To please you all the time
Tiptoe round you like a mime
But that’s cool
I hate myself for loving you
I hate that I just hang around for
Your key crank in the door
Waiting willingly for more, I do
Hate myself for loving you
But loving you is what I gotta do
I couldn’t leave you even if I wanted to
Cos it’s the hate that feeds the fire of me and you
So I hate myself for loving you
And I know honey, you hate yourself too
So say it and you’re free, say it along with me
Like its true
I hate myself for loving you
But how I love to hate myself—More Sword
On A Roll
Twist your knuckle on the steel
My fist is buckling the wheel
Spin me deeper in the hole
I’m on a roll
Take this unwanted watch of mine
I don’t need to know the time
Everything must go
I’m on a roll
She left yesterday
I guess that leaves more time to play and forget
I’m on a roll
Yeah, I’m on a roll
I’m blessed with sevens in my hand
But she could never understand
All is lost on the cost of my next throw
Cos I’m on a roll
Yeah, I’m on a roll—More Sword
Into A Pearl
Is there a place there every morning
Where the enemy is curled
Is the dead arm a warning
Of a stranger in your world?
Then can’t you make that piece of grit turn into a pearl?
Take a taxi to the station
Take a slow train to the sea
All the broken glass is patient
It knows how smooth it’s gonna be
Then can’t you take that piece of grit and make a pearl for me?
This life never suited you
Trapped inside that shell
But whatever’s gotten into you
Can be gotten out as well
If there’s a space there every morning
Where the enemy is curled
If you feel the phantom forming
Just wrap around it girl
Cos no one knows what to make of it
We step around the rage of it
But only you can smother it
And make us all a pearl
—More Sword
On My Conscience
It’s on my conscience, I’m conscious of that now
Yes, I meant to hurt you but you deserved it anyhow
I had to suffocate the words but they just poured out of my mouth
I know you’ve got your problems, your demons and your drives
And perhaps for you to solve them you covet other people’s lives
It’s on my conscience but I’m sure that I’ll survive
I’m gonna ride you like you rode my friend
I’m gonna ride you to hell and back again
So I’ll have it on my conscience until the end of time
But whenever you think of me you’ll wonder whether I was lying
Well, I don’t really care, just so long as you are crying—More Sword
Half Of Me
Half of me is tied up in our life
But half of me keeps one eye on the knife
Called upon by spirits from the golden cemetery
I’m living in a fantasy that I’m ever cutting free
Of that half of me who is timid and afraid
But half of me wants to leave the life we’ve made
And go out blazing trails in a haze of rock and roll
But my other half she laughs like it’s a joke
Fighting for the soul
Of half of me – that is all she ever gets
But half of me knows that half of me regrets
Ripping through the years without a hope of happiness
But failure never held me any fears until I had success
But half of me deserves everything he gets
Half of me is ready to retire
But half of me is still riven with a fire
Driving me to conjure up the passions of the past
Undignified and faithless to the last and…—More Sword
Little Stars
Hold on to your hats
Dust off where you came from
Throw those cameras away
Embrace the things that you abstain from
If you could all shut up
Take a peek out from your hairstyles
God is gonna speak
Just as she comes through the turnstiles
Little stars arrayed around her head and I swear, against my will
I will be hers until the disbelieving ones are dead
Don’t look to the skies
For a sign if it’s gonna run smooth
It’s just a drop of rain
Nothing compared to what we’ve come through
Little stars arrayed around her head and I swear, against my will
I will be hers until the disbelieving ones are dead
Tripping on her train, slipping off the chairs
There is nothing happens right in some affairs
We might dance through the cake and tread it up the stairs
As the revellers retire and divide up into pairs
Little stars caught within my hair and I swear, against my will
I will…—More Sword
Good morning, Fuckers
Out today like a goddamn plague, like a mass escape from the asylum.
Amazon: http://amzn.to/178Q3Tk
iTunes: http://smarturl.it/lowerreaches
Official Shop: http://shop.Justincurrie.Com —More Rants/Slates
This is my ass
18th August, 2013
I’ll be selling my ass on Thursday at HMV, Buchanan Street in Glasgow at half past five. I’ll be selling my ass all day. Come along and try to buy my ass.—More Rants/Slates
Wogan with a guitar
17th August, 2013
On with Tezza, 11am Radio 2, Sunday 18th singing live with Stu—More Rants/Slates
Back to Gatwick
.
After an arduous soundcheck trying to fit eleven lines into eight channels I take a stroll to the river beach, a strange French phenomenon whereby a bend in a country river is converted into a virtual beach by the application of a few tons of sand. It’s not for me at all. It’s just weird – people doing beachy things in mottled green water with trees all around. I walk to the end where there’s a weir. Some local teenagers are frolicking in the miniature cataract, a relatively risky business. I take a cold cola in the “beach” bar and gaze out upon the odd scene from the shade of some saplings. It’s slightly reminiscent of Seurat’s The Bathers but with more undressed flesh. An English man standing near me has swimming trunks so short that he looks naked from…—More Tales
French village
14th August, 2013
I wake up in a pleasant little hotel in a sleepy village which on further investigation turns out to be a suffocatingly picturesque tourist trap crawling with those middle-class tourists who frequent stupid shops full of gourmet this and vintage that. There’s a shop that sells cupcakes for fuck’s sake. They’re all wandering around sleepily looking for orifices into which they can ram their money. I hide in a bar out of the heat and scowl, like I ain’t the same as them. But we’re Brits abroad together no matter that I’m here to “work” so I drift along with the posh scum, nosing into an overpriced antique shop and poking at dull things. I flip through a box of vinyl which contains three Rubettes albums, some 80s Hi-Energy 12inches and a Richard Clayderman LP. Nothing even resembles bad taste, it’s…—More Tales
To Gatwick and beyond
My cabbie offers me a pellet of chewing gum, perhaps reacting to the reek of last night’s garlic. I accept and take pity on him and open a window. Glasgow is glittering in August light as we cross the Kingston bridge, the new Hydro – almost complete – nestling amongst its silver sisters like an old-fashioned idea of a spaceship.
The airport teems with holidaymakers and a smattering of Scotland fans on their way to Wembley to meet the Auld Enemy in a friendly. Their kilts sway above white woollen socks and Timberlands, the footwear of choice for the marching Tartan Army. I sense the odd look of disgust cast furtively in my direction. That soppy little poof disnae get it wi’ his maudlin shite. So be it. I give off a faint air of disdain. Come on, Scotland? Come ON Scotland.
The country…—More Tales
—Some whores, yesterday
Whoring Alert
12th August, 2013
For I shall be a-whoring, next Thursday the 22nd at HMV, Buchanan St, Glasgow. Singing and signing on the week of record release. Not many tunes but who knows? Starts at 5:30
Know one thing…I’m not signing debit card receipts or having my photograph taken with anyone called Sharon, Cedric or Arthur. —More Rants/Slates
Nazi loony alert
8th August, 2013
This charming man, Gregory Lauder-Frost, vice-president of the Traditional Britain Group believes that Doreen Lawrence is “without merit”.
I believe he may be “without marbles”.—More Rants/Slates
Hitler Youth watches Coronation Street
7th August, 2013
Member of Hitler Youth watching Coronation Street during half-time of Celtic game.
—Twat on tube
London July 26th 2013
Airports. I walk the gauntlet of painted ladies and try to fight off the olfactory assault. Right after the martial roadblock of security the inquisition of the wallet. If there’s an empty space, put a shop on it. You can’t get near a chair until you’ve done the corridor of consumption. I buy a Private Eye from a scrupulously polite young man in a glorified kiosk. He’s going places and so am I. I espy in the lounge a soundman with whom I am acquainted but he’s deeply buried in a book. A little further on I see Stevie Jackson from B&S but he too is engrossed, headphones locked over his curly hair so I resist interrupting and take a seat in my own little patch. We all have our own little patch. A very pretty young mother approaches with two red-faced bairns and parks opposite. I pick up my…—More Tales