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.
(c) Paul Andrew Sneddon
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.
(c) Paul Andrew Sneddon
The kettles on, it lights up blue when it boils. I thought it was quite modern when we got it, now it's all smart kettles. A kettle isn’t smart till it can come through and tap me on the shoulder and asks if I want a cup of tea.
The mornings are quiet. I've got the place to myself. It's kind of dark in here, I've still got the curtains closed. The missus calls it the cave.
Ha!
I like to think I’m more evolved than that
Her throwaway remark has got me chuckling, and thinking about her.
The smell of her perfume when she left for work.
I see the picture on the wall, us at the beach. Blue sky shining.
I pour the cup and go back to work.
An Old Piano
I found it in the street.
Seems no one had time for music anymore.
There was a cat
sleeping under the keys.
I pushed it home,
put it in the hall.
The keys were worn,
the wood faded.
But when I pressed the keys,
it poured out light:
into the room,
into my eyes,
into my mind.
I saw the ghosts
of Saturday night.
singing,
dancing,
pouring heart
and
soul
through the keys.
And Sunday morning,
comedown,
slow and sad.
Life’s lived,
still echoing.
I sat at the piano.
Time for a new song.
Time for our song.
Let the notes dance again.
(c) Paul Andrew Sneddon
The stars are out tonight.
A cold February night.
The streetlights flicker, and I can see my breath escape my lungs into the cold night air.
Light me home. Light me home.
The silence, broken by the occasional taxi racing up the street,
or a shout from a street over.
Don’t you know people are trying to sleep?
I feel an old soul song story stir,
my feet lifting from the pavement,
lights shining everywhere.
I hear Mavis Staples.
I hear Steven Tyler.
I hear Al Green.
The Rolling Stones’ backing singers
from Shine a Light:
King.
Greene.
Fields.
Kirkland.
Raising their voices,
an earthy acoustic guitar playing,
a voice rising up from inside me:
Rise up.
Rise up.
Bassline hits.
Drums sound like truth.
Keys to the universe.
I close my eyes,
and I’m flying.
(c) Paul Andrew Sneddon
Paul Andrew Sneddon 