Paul Andrew Sneddon

Pale Horse

Pale horse,
running through the woods at night,
down the old trails where they never built the houses.
Where we played as kids.

Am I dreaming?

Sitting at that kitchen table,
or maybe that old wooden table,
where I wrote so many songs when I was starting out.

Trying to scrape meaning
from three chords,
and a life as yet unlived.

Cup of coffee,
maybe a tea,
or something stronger.

Looking into my father’s eyes,
gone now,
but back for just a moment.

I wonder if he would still be disappointed in me.
I wonder if he would see me, for who I am,
for what I’ve made,
my struggles.

Would it really matter?
Would we just sit,
for a moment,
and understand each other,
just a little better now?

A nod of the head,
and we part.

Pale horse,
running through the woods at night,
down the old trails where they never built the houses.
Disappearing, back into the night.

Context

**** Trigger Warning **** Contains Swearing

Two friends talking about a mutual pal.
Someone you can rely on.
Says, “Aye, that cunt’s sound.”

See two folk on the bus,
a few cans to the wind.
One shouts to the other,
“Why are you acting the cunt?”

Crowd trying to stop a couple arguing in the street.
“Aye well, she’s a fucking cunt!”
She nearly knocked him out
when she heard that,
calling him a “bastardfuckingcuntareshole.”

There’s a woman I know,
Hear her chatting,
every second word she says is cunt,
like a full stop,
or an exclamation mark.

But some others
don’t say the word.
They’ll just call you a:

C
U
Next
Tuesday.

In Scotland,
we are fluent in swearing.
You’ve just got to get
the fucking context.

Work Ethic

Work ethic, work ethic, work ethic.

Isn’t any good sitting round,
Crying,
Moaning,
Hiding.

On the couch,
With a duvet and a pillow,
Like life’s a storm to wait out.

Work ethic.
Get to working,
Get to creating.
Make something.
Don’t apologize for it.
Make it breathe.
Work ethic.

Get your hands dirty.
Give yourself to the work.

No one has a ladder for you,
So build your own.
With sweat,
Blood.

Work ethic.

The only person between you and the void,
Is you.

Work ethic.

Now fucking get to it.

dream baby dream

Let you down easy, let you down hard,
Leave your heart hanging out in the yard.
Life likes to hurt, knows how to kill,
Hold onto your dreams, hold onto your will.

Between you and the darkness, is only you,
Stand up straight and walk on through.
There’s still magic, still love and soul,
Rising from the depths like rock and roll.

Keep your heart and eyes open.
Let your soul shine a light.
Dream baby dream,
You might just be alright.

Finish The Game

Rock and roll doesn’t need statues. It’s alive.

Like Willie Nile.

It’s in the pavement. The cracks in the wall in a sweaty club. When the singer testifies.

It’s no museum piece.

What goods a statue at the end of the world?

It’s in the air. 
It’s in your walk. 
How you talk. 
How you get back up. 

Every time.

I like that old Simpsons joke — End of the world. Half the folk run to the church, Half to the pub.

Or Young Guns: “I will finish the game.”

I will finish the game.