LYRIC: How Do You Ignore? (August 2025)

How do you ignore a genocide?

(Practice, man, practice)

This isn’t the first

And it won’t be the last

Our lives bathed in blood

That we try not to think about

How do you ignore the climate crisis?

(Practice, man, practice)

We’ve been in trouble

Since before I was born

The future a precipice

We try not to think about

Just try not to think about it

We try not to think about

How do you ignore this creeping fascism?

(Practice, man, practice)

Swastikas carved

Into primary school desks

Just everyday terrors

We try not to think about

How do you ignore how fucked up everything is?

(Practice, man, practice)

The problems never change

It’s a feature not a bug

Of the unjust structures

That we try not to think about

Just try not to think about it

We try not to think about

What if we thought about it?

What if we stopped ignoring?

Did more than just post about it?

Did more than just empty warnings?

Well how would we sleep at night?

Where would all the fun be then?

We can’t stop ignoring!

So just try not to think about it

How do you ignore a genocide?

How do you ignore the climate crisis?

How do you ignore this creeping fascism?

How do you ignore how fucked up everything is?

We just try not to think about it

LYRIC: The Actor, The Cello, and the Dark, Dark Cloud (July 2025)

This one’s really more of a poem, as the song is spoken word, but hey — it counts:

I sat and watched a fallen childhood hero

sincerely sing and speak from literature,

over cello, violin, and piano

in Birmingham’s Symphony Hall.

It had seemed so funny as a kid

to see Venkman hitting on Dana

in her haunted New York apartment.

But these days it just reads like harassment.

Another woman’s life made worse

By an entitled man without boundaries.

But it’s still my favourite film.

Ray’s parents left him that house; he was born there!

Meanwhile my grandmother lived and died in Dana Barrett’s building:

55 Central Park West.

If there are ghosts, she might still dwell in the service elevator

where she fell dead after brunch at Tavern on the Green.

The same place the Keymaster, Vince Clortho,

invaded the body of Louis Tulley.

Another entitled man in violation of bodily boundaries,

which I think about as I try and square my enjoyment of the actor,

singing covers of Tom Waits and Sondheim,

with the circle of his alleged wrongdoing.

What else do you expect from a vegetarian

who knows he probably should be vegan

but is too lazy to do all that cooking and food prep?

The world is much more grey

than it was ever black or white.

A reference to Michael Jackson,

perhaps,

who I occasionally also still listen to,

although I know I shouldn’t.

Ghostbusters was the first movie I fell in love with,

and Thriller the first album.

My grandmother,

the one who died in Spook Central,

and who might have made my mother’s life hell sometimes,

used to send me clippings

every time Jackson was mentioned in the papers.

She didn’t know who he was!

Was more into classical opera than the King of Pop.

But she knew her grandson loved him,

and that was enough.

Just as I still loved my grandmother,

no matter what my mother’s feelings.

Whatever the actor might, or might not, have done,

his performance was beautiful that night in Birmingham,

on the same stage where,

the year of its grand opening,

my grandmother had travelled from America to take us,

unwillingly,

to see the CBSO.

My only memory was of Sir Simon Rattle’s

wild and wonderful hair.

All these years later,

I would give anything to watch that concert I ignored again,

and spend one more precious evening with my gran.

But instead I get my favourite ghostbuster,

putting a little love in my heart.

He gave me a rose as he took his bows,

which sits now drying in a cupboard.

An artefact of a memory

I didn’t realise how much I’d cherish

when I guiltily bought the ticket,

and felt somehow like I shouldn’t.

LYRIC: The Poverty of Low Expectations (June 2025)

An education is a battle

Fought each day against our schools

In the gaps between the classrooms

In the gaps between the rules

And what is learned cannot be tested

At your isolated desks

In coercive competition

In examination death

The real assessment comes from living

Yes living lives much better than

The lives they had timetabled for you

Yes living lives against the plan

LYRIC: Ballad of an Aging Punk with a Keyboard (May 2025)

Fingers stained black again

Those fanzines marked me

in more ways than one

Filled my head with strange ideas

Like anyone can have a voice

Do things for passion, not for pay

Create the worlds you want to see

And champion all the things that you love

Here’s three chords now start a band

And when the band breaks up

Just keep on Doing It Yourself

Doing It Yourself

Bands nobody heard of

Except all of us that had

Records shipped from bedroom distros

To ears all over the world

Singing:

We accept you one of us

No more gatekeepers of talent

Ability in the beholder’s eye

Make your own kind of noise

Here’s three chords now start a band

And when the band breaks up

Just keep on Doing It Yourself

Doing It Yourself

This life’s not like the pop songs

This life’s an ugly mess

This life’s not perfect plastic

This life’s what we protest

Re-used envelopes through the door

Packing tape and thick black marker

Missives of hope from better worlds

That truly saved my life

Don’t let the bastards grind you down

Call out whatever needs calling out

And when the bullshit gets too much

You’ve got to get in the fucking van

Here’s three chords now start a band

And when the band breaks up

Just keep on Doing It Yourself

Doing It Yourself

LYRIC: I’m Alright, We’re OK (April 2025)

It’s not all depression and despair

I like to laugh as much as anyone

Not the wild-eyed cackle of the lost and deranged

But sitcom sofa chuckles

The joy of silly voices

Goofy comedy songs

I sing around the house

To amuse my wife and cat

I like to go on walks to pretty places

see the trees and mountains

Hills and lakes

With my favourite person in the world

That said

It’s not like everyday is perfect

I’m alright

We’re okay

There is so much to be thankful for

Weekends we watch the football

In between too many hours

of professional wrestling and sometimes baseball

My music is misinformation

Showing only my bleakest self

While behind the lyric sheet

contentment reigns

My otherwise wonderful life

Causes me no urgent creative crisis

I tend to write most of my songs when I feel down

That said

It’s not like everyday is perfect

I’m alright

We’re okay

There is so much to be thankful for

That said

It’s not like everyday is perfect

But mostly it’s okay

I read a lot and listen to music

Write my songs and play my bass guitar

Everyday is perfect

I’m alright

We’re okay

There is so much to be thankful for

LYRIC: The World’s Not Worth Saving Anymore (March 2025)

I miss the world I used to know

Though it’s a world I used to hate

For though a better world seemed far away

I never doubted it’s our fate

Today it’s hope that seems far away

I look around and blink my eyes

I miss the bad old times we’ve lost

I miss that world I once despised

Because

The world’s not worth saving any more

I think of all the things we learned

How quickly it was thrown away

I once believed we’d found the path

But sadly that was yesterday

Because

The world’s not worth saving any more

LYRIC: The Worst is Not (Feb 2025)

I’m feeling crazy, feeling panicked, feeling very very scared

This time is not like the last time

My head it felt so better when I had it buried under sand

They say that ignorance is bliss

A broken clock will turn out to be right at least two times a day

Still you don’t believe the boy who cried out wolf

The worst is not,

So long as WE

can say

‘this is

the worst’

The monster in the closet isn’t just some naive childhood fear

Sometimes those burning eyes are real

As much as I would like to make believe that things will be alright

I know sometimes that they are not

Every day the world is full of many other tragic tales

of people far worse off than me

The worst is not,

So long as WE

can say

‘this is

the worst’

This

Is not

The worst

This

Is not

The worst

LYRIC: Right Now (Jan 2025)

We are not all journalists

Despite the tempting sound of this

We have no column and no beat

No urgent deadlines to meet

So why do all our phones go ping

With every alert that comes in?

Why do we interrupt our lives

To keep on top of their headlines?

Why all the urgency?

Need for immediacy?

To see as soon as we can see?

All the latest tragedies?

Do

We really

Need to know

RIGHT NOW?

Keep up with the conversation

Hot takes which divide a nation

The quickest comments get liked first

Encourage us to be our worst

They said become the media

And we did, losing who we were

Hijacked the discourse way off course

We need a digital divorce

Why all the urgency?

Need for immediacy?

To see as soon as we can see?

All the latest tragedies?

Do

We really

Need to know

RIGHT NOW?

LYRIC: What Might Blossom

I work within the gaps
One mind at a time
Seeds sown into the dark
On ground infertile and malign
 
My progress rate is slow
And mostly I’ll never know
If what I’ve sown has taken root
If what I’ve sown will even grow
 
And though it likely will take more than my lifetime to yield the harvest
I’m nourished by the thought of what might blossom after I am gone regardless
 
The world that’s always been
Sometimes it looks the other way
That’s when I find we can slip in
And try to show another way

I am the change I want to see
A living elevator pitch
There’s something’s broken underneath
But it is something we can fix

And though it likely will take more than my lifetime to yield the harvest
I’m nourished by the thought of what might blossom after I am gone regardless
Other worlds than these are possible, and we just have to show them
And recognise that they’re worth fighting for even if we won’t live to know them

LYRIC: You Are Now In Bedford Falls (December)

The lights twinkle in the dark

But the mist makes it hard to see

It makes the lights feel so far away

Too far away to break through this pitch winter black.

You are now in Bedford Falls

Covered in snow

It’s tattoed on my arm

To remind me

Of Christmas

To remind me

That it is a wonderful life

To remind me

Of Christmas

To remind me

That it is a wonderful life

The cold cuts you to the bone

Feels like you might never feel warmth again.

There’s too many Old man Potters in this world

And not enough George Baileys

to make a difference

You are now in Bedford Falls

George has given up

So that we don’t have to

To remind us

Of Christmas

To remind us

That it is a wonderful life

To remind us

Of Christmas

To remind us

That it is a wonderful life

Teacher says every time a bell rings

There’s an angel that’s getting its wings

But I would say every time a teacher says stupid things

that the forces of ignorance win

Every time a bell rings

it only means

Somebody has bought some more things

You hear that noise - those ringing bells?

It’s the sound of us going to hell

You are now in Bedford Falls

Running past that

wonderful old building and loan

To remind you

Of Christmas

To remind you

That it is a wonderful life

To remind you

Of Christmas

To remind you

That it is a wonderful life

No man is a failure who has friends

No man is a failure who has friends

No man is a failure who has friends

But sometimes the friends don’t show up

Until the end

LYRIC: Ian Malcolm and the Anarchists (November)

In the cracks

Life finds a way.

Ian Malcom and the anarchists

Got it right.

There is a seed beneath the snow,

And it is Blooming out of sight.

We are not waiting for your

permission.

We’re just doing something better

To prove it can be done.

That everything

could be different.

If we wanted.

That there are other worlds than this.

A million little victories

Seen just by those victorious.

Away from prying eyes

They nourish something beautiful.

Prefigurative

proof of concept:

The revolution

Is already here

Taking place within the shadows

Creating something new

Within the carcass of the old.

Within the carcass of the old

Within the carcass of the old

So Fuck your world cuz we’re building a better one

LYRIC: The Electricity Doesn’t Like The Man (October)

There was a witch once told my mother

The electricity doesn’t like the man

But was she a good witch, or was she a bad witch?

And was my father, or I, the man?

At home our lights would flicker

Our bulbs would burst, our fuses short

I thought witches were just in books

So I gave her words no further thought

Oh!

The electricity doesn’t like the man

The man!

A friend once tried a ouija board

But thought he’d let something evil in

Speaking in a different voice he said to me:

‘there’s now you, there’s now me, and there’s him’

My friend begged us to kill it

Though we were not holy men

We hoped our exorcism worked

And never ever spoke of it again

The electricity doesn’t like the man

The man!

My sister would sometimes hear someone coughing

When in the house and all alone

Tell me please who could have been coughing

When there was no one else at home?

It was only when we’d moved out

That we learned that in that room

A previous owner had lost their life

Coughing blood from a fatal flu

The electricity doesn’t like the man

The man!

My first home after university

We had this lovely big spare room

But no matter how well you lit it

You couldn’t ever seem to shake the gloom

Friends seldom stayed a second night

We didn’t need to ask them why

We knew that was the room in which

The landlord’s dear old mother died

The electricity doesn’t like the man

The man!

Halloween movies I watch them in the dark

As I ignore the broken switch

And pretend the lights are off by my own choice

Trying not to think about the words of that witch

I don’t believe the dead can talk

Despite the things I’ve heard and seen

The electricity didn’t like the man

But was dad the man, or was the man me?

Oh was it me?

The electricity doesn’t like the man

The man!

The man!

LYRIC: Until it Doesn’t (September)

I feel the world falling further away today

I see the norms we once cherished before start to fade

I see there’s some kind of catastrophe on its way

But there’s nothing I can see I can do or can say

To make it all ok

Life goes on

Life goes on

Life goes on

Life goes on

Until it doesn’t

Until it doesn’t

Until it doesn’t go on

Anymore

All the old institutions we made were a lie

What we thought was salvation was our suicide

Structures made to protect have allowed us to die

As atrophied intellects ask the wrong questions why

Trapped in their web world wide

Life goes on

Life goes on

Life goes on

Life goes on

Until it doesn’t

Until it doesn’t

Until it doesn’t go on

Anymore

LYRIC: Worm in their Head (August)

Did you think you could get rid of me so damn easily?

Did you think that because I’m not there they’ll forget about me?

I am oh so much more than your petty attempts to control

I am an idea that cannot be destroyed and has taken hold

I am the worm in their head

Did you think it enough to pretend I’m inappropriate?

That by saying I’m not welcome here that they might just forget?

Can you not understand I was there long before you took charge?

That I am the essence, repressed, of who they really are?

I am the worm in their head

Did you think you could trick them forever with divide and rule?

Did you think that they wouldn’t notice how you played them like fools?

Every time you used force to shut down those who wouldn’t let go

I simply bided my time to rise up another tomorrow .

I am the worm in their head

Did you think they would never notice how you always win?

Did you think that the comfort you felt wasn’t luring you in?

To that false security that comes when you think you’re on top

The illusory silence just before the other shoe drops

I am the worm in their head

LYRIC: To Greet My Noise (July)

Isn’t it funny how long we wait

For so very little?

Shouting out our words loudly into the dark

Sharing ourselves into the void

Hoping for an echo back

To at least acknowledge all the effort

Put into making a sound

But once again I find myself waiting

And hearing only the rush of blood

In my ears

That greets

That greets my noise

How many signals do you need

Before you start to pay attention?

That there are no connections to be made.

No kindred spirits out there.

That your singular voice speaks only

To itself

And though you know you’d do it anyway

Even if nobody cared

You can’t bring yourself to admit

The truth that maybe no one does?

And once again I find myself waiting

And hearing only the rush of blood

In my ears

That greets

That greets my noise

How many signals do you need

Before you start to pay attention?

I reached the finish line, alone.

With no one there to celebrate,

I cheer my own success

In the silence of an empty room.

And move on onto the next fight,

Convincing myself that this next one might…

Might finally be worth it

That this next one might actually count.

And once again I find myself waiting

And hearing only the rush of blood

In my ears

That greets

That greets my noise

I do it for myself.

I do it by myself

But still I’m doing it for you

To greet my noise

LYRIC: Much Too Busy To Write (June)

I’m much too busy much too busy to write

I’m much too busy much too busy to write

I’m much too busy much too busy to write

I’m much to busy and it just isn’t right

LYRIC: And We Dance (May)

The rain it started falling wrong

Too much, too little

Floods and droughts

Where did all the seasons go?

And I’m trying to watch the news less now

Curating only positivity

I like to look at pretty pictures

Watch my sports

Listen to podcasts that only cater in nostalgia

So we can dance and we dance and we dance and we dance and we dance

At the end of the world

And we dance and we dance and we dance and we dance and we dance

There used to be this thing we called the truth

At least that’s what I’m choosing to believe

It might have been some dream I had?

It might have been some fucked up fantasy?

I can’t remember the last time I checked the facts?

I can’t remember the last time you checked the facts?

I can’t remember the last time we checked the facts?

I can’t remember how we ever used to disagree?

So we dance and we dance and we dance and we dance and we dance

At the end of the world

And we dance and we dance and we dance and we dance and we dance

At the end of the world

Why do my feet feel sore?

Why do my legs hurt so?

Why can’t I stop myself?

From dancing

Please help me - I can’t stop dancing…

We barely even notice anymore

When a bomb drops and gives birth to war

Grumble on about the price of gas

And set our eyes towards a screen

Advertising’s noticed less than war

We sold our right to privacy if we ever had that right before?

And turned ourselves into our brands

To sell the nothing we have left of ourselves right into their hands

And we dance and we dance and we dance and we dance and we dance

At the end of the world

And we dance and we dance and we dance and we dance and we dance

Heatwave one week, snow the next

They said it only takes a few degrees

Before it cannot be undone

We laugh at references to once before

The things we watched when we were kids

Distracting us so they could steal

Everything that we once held so dear

While our minds were so diverted that it felt like progress as they took our souls

Leaving us with nothing more than scraps

of broken promises and pairs of too-tight dancing shoes

So we can dance and we dance and we dance and we dance and we dance

At the end

(why do my feet feel sore?)

of the world

And we dance and we dance

(why do my legs hurt so? )

and we dance and we dance and we dance

(why can’t I stop myself from dancing?)

At the end

of the world

And we dance and we dance

(Please help me! I can’t stop dancing!) and we dance and we dance and we dance

At the end of the world

(why are my feet so sore? Why do my legs hurt so? Why can’t I stop myself from dancing? Please help me! I can’t stop dancing!)

And we dance and we dance and we dance and we dance and we dance

At the end of the world

(Please help me! I can’t stop dancing!)

And we dance and we dance and we dance and we dance and we dance

At the end of the world

(Stop dancing)

And we dance and we dance and we dance and we dance

(Dancing)

and we dance

At the end of the world

(At the end of the world)

LYRIC: Anarchist Atheist Punk Rock Teacher (April)

I’m an anarchist, atheist, punk rock teacher

Middle fingers in the air

I’m an anarchist, atheist, punk rock teacher

No exams are never fair

I’m an anarchist, atheist, punk rock teacher

I want the system smashed

I’m an anarchist, atheist, punk rock teacher

But I can’t be late for class

I’m an anarchist, atheist, punk rock teacher

No masters and no gods

I’m an anarchist, atheist, punk rock teacher

Surviving against the odds

I’m an anarchist, atheist, punk rock teacher

I hate school uniform

I’m an anarchist, atheist, punk rock teacher

Don’t ask me to conform

I always hated my school when I was younger

Yet back I go each day

Don’t advocate hierarchy, power, or authority

But kids do what I say

I teach them religions I don’t believe in

Ideas I think do harm

And they look at me strangely when they see

All the tattoos on my arm

I’m an anarchist, atheist, punk rock teacher

How did I end up here?

I’m an anarchist, atheist, punk rock teacher

There must be some mistake

I’m an anarchist, atheist, punk rock teacher

I feel like I’m a fake

I’m an anarchist, atheist, punk rock teacher

I’ll help you to go far

I’m an anarchist, atheist, punk rock teacher

But I’d rather play guitar

I’m an anarchist, atheist, punk rock teacher

Teaching the lyrics to Crass

I’m an anarchist, atheist, punk rock teacher

How long do you think I’ll last?

I’m an anarchist, atheist, punk rock teacher

This system must be stopped

I’m an anarchist, atheist, punk rock teacher

I’m in charge but I’m not

Those who can do something useful

The rest of us we teach

I’m corrupting youth like Socrates

But your hemlock’s out of reach

Subverting the system from the inside

at least I try my best

That my students learn to be their own selves

Is their only worthwhile test

I’m an anarchist, atheist, punk rock teacher

How did I end up here?

LYRIC: I Can’t Be Every Day (March)

I can’t be every day just focusing on what went wrong

I can’t be every day putting frustrations in a song

I can’t be every day just cataloguing misfortune

I can’t be every day if every day is another day of woe

A day of woe

What is the point of life when nothing feels it’s going right?

The point of life is recognising there’s no point of life but life without a point is still alright

I can’t be every day making bold statements such as these

I can’t be every day developing new philosophies

I can’t be every day considering mortality

I can’t be every day exploring your hypotheses

I can’t be every day if every day is another day of woe

What is the point of life when nothing feels it’s going right?

The point of life is recognising there’s no point of life but also recognising that’s alright

That life without a point or plan

Without a God to hold your hand

Without meaning beyond meaning you give yourself…is alright

The human mind creates constructed realities

The more depressed you are the more accurately you see the world

The aim therefore isn’t for truth, but for fiction

That allows us to live in peace

Our minds carefully construct beautiful fantasies to save us from the awful truth

And philosophers - supposedly smart people - destroy those fantasies with the blunt force of logic and then wonder why their wisdom didn’t leave them happy?

We are not creatures designed for truth

We are creatures designed to share stories and make believe

We are dreamers, who unravel each day’s events only under cover of darkness and in a cloak of the unreal

Who cannot confront the specifics

And circle round subjects with therapists

There is no world as it is

There is only the world as it is to you.

And together we negotiate

A mutually agreed story

that makes the world

The best it can be for all of us

As best we can imagine it to be

Knowing no one person has the privilege

Of having all the answers

But we all can share our stories

For the only answer is that we don’t know

And that we don’t need to know

That we haven’t got the tools to know

Only to create

What is the point of life when nothing feels it’s going right?

The point of life is recognising there’s no point of life but also recognising that’s alright

That life without a point or plan

Without a God to hold your hand

Without meaning beyond meaning you give yourself…is alright

LYRIC: Make Friends With My Dread (February)

Well I’ve played with having plans

And seen them crumble in my hands

I don’t know how this project ends

But I’m not too afraid to start

I don’t know if these notes sound right

But I just feel them with my heart

I don’t know how to play these instruments

But I’m gonna play them anyway

I don’t know how to live a life

But I just take it day by day

I’ve been intolerant of uncertainty

And I’m pretty sure it wasn’t good for me

I don’t know what I’m doing here

But then does anyone know why?

I don’t know if I am fulfilled

But I won’t know until I try

I don’t know how to do this job

But I am sure I’ll work it out

I don’t know if I quite belong

But I’m content to live with doubt

I’m learning

to make peace in my head

I’m learning

to make peace in my head

I’m learning

to make friends with my dread

I don’t know what I want to say

But I speak even if the draft is rough

I don’t know what I should believe

But I’ll believe, until you call my bluff

I don’t know what my dreams should be

But that I dream at all is surely good enough

There is only just one certainty…

That what we plan will likely never be reality

I’m learning

to make peace in my head

I’m learning

to make peace in my head

I’m learning

to make friends with my dread

I don’t know how this all turns out

But that’s the point - nobody ever can

I don’t know what tomorrow brings

But today is right here in my hand