On Brindled Moor there is a nothingness

That only a bog can invoke

And this vast Hebridean peat bog

Articulates un-knowingness

Saying, there is nothing here,

Only what the eye can’t see.

This brown earth, stunned out of wonder,

With its wandering watercourses

Running through the peat; a feit,

Which resembles veins or sinews,

A bugha, a green bow-shaped sweep of moor grass,

Formed by the winding of the stream;

A rionnach maoim, casting shadows

On the moorland by clouds moving

Across the sky on a bright, windy day,

Lighting up what is suddenly

Not empty or meaningless at all.

Here we have chucky,clitter and fedster

Pipkrares and shuckle

Muxy rout and slunk,

And migrant birds arriving from distant places.

‘It is time to sing the world back into being

That static things may be caught

In the very act of becoming’



The cigarette smoke hangs like tear gas
In the mean little honky-tonk
But nobody really gives a shit
Because Jerry is in town.
He arrives without fanfare
And seats himself down
Gimme my money and show me the piano
And don’t try and act the hound
This is rockabilly, baby
Forget about Elvis and Johnny
Jerry has just kicked the door down.

Jerry can conjure a thousand songs
And play each one seven different ways
He can make your high heel sneakers
Dance the legs off every other cat in the place
I aint no phoney
I ain’t no teddy bear
And I don’t talk baloney
As I say to my bass player
I ain’t no goody-goody
But I was born to be on the stage
It was all I ever dreamed of
From the very earliest age.

Jerry plays it slow and mournful or hard and fast
He once told Chuck Berry he could kiss his ass
And across the arc of bad-boy rockers
Who have come and gone
Jerry is the only one still rocking on
Sure, there were some bad times that caused his
Rocket ship to sputter
Like the year he crashed a dozen Cadillac’s
And was heard to utter
You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain
Too much love drives a man insane
You broke my will, oh what a thrill
Goodness gracious great balls of fire

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