I’m running down the road feeling overshadowed Got sixty runners on my mind Most of them are faster And those I’ll never master But there are still a few behind
Can’t take it easy, can’t take it easy Can’t let the sound of my own footsteps drive me crazy
I’m running round the corner I’m a long way down the order But what a fine sight to see A water stop my Lord which I can afford And that’s because it’s absolutely free
Can’t take it easy, can’t take it easy Can’t let the sound of my own footsteps drive me crazy
Come on baby legs don’t fail me I wanna know if I can do it when I’m eighty I may lose I may win But I will never be here again And that’s the day I might slow down and Take it easy
Back in the days when football was new The players were honest and blackguards were few The captains decided the rules which were best Third parties weren’t needed they’d just cause unrest
But as time went on the game took a turn Now winning was foremost a living to earn The disputes were many and fretful and long Now umpires were needed to tell right from wrong
So two umpires were chosen the game it began The fouls multiplied upsetting the plan The umpires tried hard as they waved their flags No notice was taken by the player scallywags
The bosses sat down and said what will we do The umpires aren’t working we haven’t a clue Our game is in danger the players run amok Without law and order the game is a crock
Then up spake a quiet man, they listened to him He said there’s a man down in old Birmingham He’ll possibly come up with a great invention That will answer our call and relieve all the tension
Joe Hudson he sat there in Brummagem Town The troubles of football he read with a frown And then it came to him like an epistle I know he said, I’ll invent the whistle
Football was eventually saved at the death By a whistle blown by the referee’s breath The play is now stopped and is brought to a halt And when told the players accept who’s at fault
All hail to Hudson for his invention Is worth more than a mere passing mention Without a whistle to compete Football would be obsolete
Upon a dreary Sunday morning May be June but hard to tell A chilly wind blows in the drizzle The hour tolled by the mournful bell But we know the skies will brighten If not today tomorrow sure We can allow our hearts to lighten Expectation is the cure
Day 4 at Lords the people gather An England win they hope to cheer But this England team is fragile Talented but plagued by fear Too many times our expectations Turn to dust leave us forlorn The previous night our hopes assemble Resignation come the morn
The farmyard pig is loved by children Playing in its muddy hole The next day they will gaily chatter Eating up their bacon roll And when too soon the van approaches Unsmiling men with kicks and blows Transport the animal to the chamber And as that animal goes it knows
The young man’s sure to get there early Wait at the bus stop as arranged For his date agreed to meet him At eight o’clock and nothing’s changed The eight o’clock bus isn’t stopping The lad’s dismayed but not for long For sure nine was the time agreed on And so he waits his hopes still strong
Us Blues fans sing a merry ditty Of lots of joys and sorrows too For many years we’ve seen the sorrows The joys are very far and few The ghosts of previous generations Sit on the roof and watch the games Though we in turn grow old and weary Our optimism never wanes
The wife stays with her drunkard husband The more he hits the more she stays You have to leave him say the neighbours He’ll go too far one of these days But she remembers those sweet evenings When he was loving full of care She prays that soon he too will recall And things will become as they were
And as the years march quickly forward It seems that they accelerate We turn to thinking of our passing For hopes and dreams it is too late Will it come easy in the night time Or will our end of days come hard There’s only doubts as to the timing The fact we cannot disregard
But in our world of war and famine Of climate change catastrophe Can our children halt the passage Of things which we have failed to see Or at least have failed to conquer We’ve given up without a fight Our selfish hopes inconsequential The knowing clock soon strikes midnight
These eighty years the garden’s stayed unchanged No, as the seasons turn they fade or bloom The colours, textures somewhat rearranged This time next year familiar scents assume
The gravel paths, the cared and tended beds The birds that visit daily reassured There is no predator that softly treads Their safety at their grazing is ensured
But should the writer seek to fly away To seek excitement, danger, far and wide To seek out wond’rous places, for they say We will regret our chances if denied
But here surrounded by wisteria One cannot claim that it’s inferior
Now I know I’m old and single Maybe prone to a silly thought There’s a woman called Alexa Who is driving me distraught Though she’ll turn the volume lower And tell jokes without a care When I want to know her better She’s not there
When I need some information Maybe learn some history She will give me all that’s needed She solves every mystery But when night falls and I’m lonely Alexa drives me to despair I would marry her tomorrow But she’s not there
She obeys my every order Switches lights both on and off She’ll suggest a piece of music Maybe play Rachmaninoff But when I ask her to come closer Run my fingers through her hair She is not so quick to answer ‘Cos she’s not there
There was a young gardienne called Caroline Whose assessment of risk was thought very fine One day by the store She was squashed by a door Now her safety credentials are borderline
NB – no gardiennes or other persons were squashed in the making of this lament
Beyond the meadow runs the valley road But yet you’d hardly know that it was there The centuries have passed, new ones unfold The sheep still safely graze without a care
Along the way the orchard seems at peace But work goes quietly on as through we tread The trees know that their task can never cease The ancient Cider Fest must go ahead
The buildings have been here for many years If they could talk what might they tell to us But no great dramas only hopes and fears Their world has moved along with no great fuss
But wait they didn’t hear so long ago The morning noise, the red-eye to Heathrow
The tale of Ireland is a tragic one We know the many troubles it’s been through The warlike men with axes, guns and spears The Vikings down to Cromwell and his crew
But then there came a hidden enemy In eighteen forty seven if I’m right It came along in silence, mockingly From nowhere came the cruel potato blight
This new attack the others did eclipse To emigrate the folks salvation lay The people climbed aboard the coffin ships Which sailed to take them to Amerikay
But wait some heard of yet another land And not so very far across the sea In Jersey maybe they could lend a hand To build a harbour paid most handsomely
Some lads packed and sadly hugged their mother Set off by foot to finally reach the port And with their final pennies bought a ticket ‘Take us to Jersey’ was their only thought
And so when they arrived at Jersey docks Off they were sent to Verclut’s shantytown To blast and lift the heavy granite blocks From early morn until the sun went down
And in the night while all the locals slept A penny whistle sounded notes forlorn As they lay down to rest and quietly wept And prayed their families lived to see the dawn
Each morning they would rise unwillingly Their weary bones to drag all through the day The works proceeded only grudgingly The lads relieved to still receive their pay
And then one day the building work just stopped Maybe you know just how the story goes The harbour lads just went off home to Ireland I think a couple may have stayed, who knows
Today we happily drive down to St Catherine And stroll along the breakwater so slow Perhaps next time you’ll spare a thought for Ireland And those gallant lads who built it long ago
Back On The Rock 