Looking On Beyond Below

Picture frame - a thousand words. Disembodied feelings towards the fall. Illness descending, the flagship returns. Where in the world could I be for happier times? In the gutter sniping at the glass ceiling in front of me.

The truth be told, the truth in tow. I'm in looking on beyond below. Favours seized, favours past. Unhappiness leads to the dance, the dance. If anyone sees, if anyone knows. Tell them I'm up there with my dreams, approaching ground level. Watering plants, growing flowers is all I could want in a concrete jungle. Maybe I've found my life as a gardener after all.

Spoken lies, fobbed off dreams. You know you're in for a zinger the moment it leaves. Kept in books, in computers and in magazines. What picture did you have in a life like this? I spoke of no ambition but there must be more to it than this. Keep hanging at the edge of the curtain surveying the ruins I'm living in. Planning a mode of escape from the intrusion of those inside.

We paid our way in the dreams of romance, wishing for the exotic life that paid us through. Now the cold remnants of other people looking in destroys the chance of victory. Maybe I'm too envious or maybe I just don't know. Either way, there's not much to say in here. When the cats come in, it's the only time I feel a sense of purpose.

Watering plants, growing flowers is all I could want in a concrete jungle. Maybe I've found my life as a gardener after all. Alone after all the spent failures we've built up in the sand. Those dreams of escape take on a new form and we spend it like we're dreaming a new religion. Promises we probably could never keep but still cling onto like children. I don't want to fail you.

Crowded boom in the echoless room. A thought inside. Fraying somewhat inside defeated dreams. A restless heart. A new decay to drift into open air. Pennies and cents. Nobody dies. If anybody lives, they live alone. There's no one else to pick up the pieces. There's no one at home.

Likes to show a little hand. Likes this special company. Waits until they're alone. Waits for the kill. You'll only hear about it later after he makes his leave. He makes his money from you.......you just have to be careful

The Atom Bomb ( Made My Way/Fall In Love With......)

Returning to the fray, so wretched, times are up before we sleep. Decked out like a nuclear zombie. I made my way to the atom bomb. I leave the driving to someone else's hands. I couldn't bring myself to look away but I fell in love with the atom bomb. That's why I made my way to the atom bomb.

Passion is fermented in the arms of change. They can only watch you sleep at night with a sense of distress. Seeing is believing but dreams are forbidden. Actions are well hidden. Sooner or later we'll all fall in love for the atom bomb. Don't ask me why but we need a new tomorrow. Changes, time, instance of distance. A disaster zone made only for us. That's why I made my way to the atom bomb.

Your love allows me to live. But the distance of December hours make dreams impossible. Those dreams of putting the finger on the trigger take on another life when remembering everything. I watch you sleep at night wishing to be stuck in the same little zone locked in time. But that's not how we do things. That's not part of the plan. I made my way to the atom bomb because it's the only way that I can believe. It's what gives me strength. That's why I made my way to the atom bomb. That's why I fell in love with the atom bomb.

Atoms, protons, neutrons - molecules in the sand. Burning in time. So fall in love with the atom bomb for me. Make your way to the atom bomb with me. The eternal outline wrapped together in us. All this could be yours.

The Domestic Bliss ( Taken For Granted )

In a change of space, a change of place. A dream I'd always wanted. But old feelings linger in the midst of a perennial fate. The deadlines are coming much too soon. And nobody has what they wanted.

The week's get shorter and everything dries up. The domestic bliss or something more than this. Every now and then, there's something lurking over there. Everything else just dreams with a magical return. Still looking over pictures and dreaming of another tomorrow.

You can only see how we are and dreaming into the stage of open hands. Old songs and radio know where we are headed. Nothing is taken for granted. I'm just holding out on the stage of another tomorrow. Nobody has this thing taken for granted. It's just something that bears repeating. No matter how old it gets.

You can sit there and tell me how it's done as if everything around you is so easy. Expanding waistlines and communicative arts. You're not backwards in going forwards. Into the sea or into the air, find us a place where we really care. Feeling that life is spent out of past regrets and now I'm saving everything for her.

Everything is happy but there's so much else in life that's bringing me down.

I don't want to be barbaric/I just want to cut it up

A word from Christopher Mayhew

"I think the simplest explanation is, is that I had these experiences, that they were real and that they took place outside of time."

The Universal Complaint

Features and faces, drawn out of time. TV news stations, radio setlists, burning images through the flames. Dances in echoes, jumping from windows, an evergrowing set of circumstances I will never understand. Cut the clues and clean yourself in, dreaming of a better tomorrow.

Loving relationships, long cycles through time. Feeding the frenzy that burns from within. Falling asleep under the blankets of time. You damage me so much, I feel as though I haven't had time for her at all. A constant staring into the abyss and wondering where I go when you're not here. It's called the new apprehension.

Cutting from deadlines and delayed messages, one hopeless sentence that will wash me away. Keep feeling as inept and featureless through distant memories that fall by the wayside. Clue myself in with the terms that'll haunt me for the rest of my life. You're a big boy now, you should know these things. Spend my time criticising the universal complaint as I'm part of it all now. Spend your life in a free-for-all.

A textural treat, one that keeps us going. How many hours are we going to do today? How many days are we going to do this week? What's the overall effect. If all I had to do was click a pen to feel important, I'd be made for life. If all I had was taken away, they might as well just take me away as well. A summer holiday where nobody knows my name.