Need My Own Good Friday

Having my mind brought back to the mid-70’s by the previous post, I noticed I had the lyrics to Roy Harper’s “Me and My Woman” sitting in a draft post from a couple of weeks ago, just before the vacation. I think Sam’s post to name your favourite U2 tracks, led me into a “soundtrack of our lives” mood … and I regressed to around 1972 … and then realized it had been done before. Desert Island Discs it’s called. Anyway, not to waste the man’s words …

Me and My Woman – Roy Harper

I never know what kind of day it’s been,
on my battlefield of ideals.
But the way she touches and the way it feels,
must be just how it heals
And it’s got a little better
since I let her sundance.

I never know what time of year it is,
living on top of the fire.
But the robin outside has to hunt and hide,
in the cold and frosty shire.

Ah but he knows just what goes
in between his cold toes and his warm ears
And he’s got no disguise in his eyes
for his love as she nears

He spreads her a shelter
She takes the tall skies
As they helter skelter
Along the same sighs

She wakes my days with a glad face
She fakes and says I’m a hard case
She makes and plays like a bad ace
Carrying my days into scarred space

And she knows me well, ah but what the hell
Only time can tell, where we’re going to
Me and my woman

And the Lord speaks out
and the pigpens fawn
The sword slides out
and the nations mourn
The hoard strides out
and the chosen spawn
The devil rides out
and the heavens yawn

And he knows us well, ah but what the hell,
Only time can tell, where we’re going to.
Me and my woman

What a lovely day,
what a day to play at living
What a mess we make,
what a trust we break not giving
Our wings to our children
O how we fail them
O how we nail them

Sunset my colour,
and king is my name
Darkness my lover,
and we live in shame
Too far away
from the light of the day
And so near, and so here

Can’t break through the silence
that has taken my place
On the plains of the morning
that I just could not face

Asking you these questions,
telling you these lies
Enveloping directions,
developing disguise
Open to suggestions,
but closed to all my eyes

Dead on arrival, right where I stand

Space is just an ashtray,
flesh is my best wheel
The atmosphere’s my highway,
and the landscape’s my next meal
I need my own Good Friday,
and I’m trying to fix the deal

Dead on arrival, right where I stand

I am the new crowned landlord
of all beneath my star
Queueing up for doomsday
in my homesick motor car
Born before my mother,
died before my pa.

Dead on arrival, right where I stand

And the cuckoo she moves
through the dawn fanfare
The dew leaves the rooves
in the magic air
I feel a finger running through
my nightmare’s lair
I feel most together
with my nowhere stare

And you know me well, ah but what the hell
Only time can tell where we’re going to.
Me and my woman

Those Sounds of the 70’s Peel sessions … Twelve Hours of Sunset, Highway Blues … back to the future.

(Pity. One flaw, I can just hear my woman saying – Horses have hooves, houses have roofs.)