Songwriter, guitarist and composer
Around Here
From sun up ‘til down, tearing earth from its place, chasing riches to which I’ve been blind
but as long as I keep up the toil they’re still within grasp.
Someday I may twig that the hours I’ve spent looking is the time I’ve laboured to find
but that day won’t transpire ‘til I’m too tired to take up the task.
So back to the board ‘cos nothing’s been found
and I’ve turned every stone on the ground for those years I had stashed.
I’m sure they’re round here.
I dream rose beds in bloom and a poorly conceived portmanteau where the number should be,
a home far removed from this house and this dirty old road,
and I’ve taken to driving through places it may be yet never made pains to go see,
asking each bemused face for a clue to my manor bestowed.
Window down, catch their eye,
now ‘scuse me while I quiz this guy
on the best way to there,
‘cos I’m sure it’s round here.
But they’ve yet to endorse any postcode or course and my patience and tyres wear thin,
so with no aim or end I resign to upend myself,
drowning contrition, pitting sin against sin.
And now vengeful sobriety pulls onto the street as the first coat of dawn soaks the walls
and there’s only so long you can hope that his mercy holds sway.
But his headlights are dimmed and he’s armed to the teeth
with the ugliest thoughts in the world
and you don’t know he’s there ‘til the first of them blows you away.
In days gone by I’d walk off this hex
then, emboldened, return for the next round of shots
but I’ve not seen that nerve for a while.
Still, I’m sure it’s round here.
Written by Del Scott Miller
Mobile: 07988775994
Mobile: 07988775994 | Email Del Scott Miller