Birds & Butterflies

“See the mountains crumble
Feel the fire go cold
Summer will turn to winter
Love will turn to stone…”

“They say his famous final words
Came from the heart of man
I made his bed on love denied
Now I ain’t gonna sleep tonight”

“Too late for the young gun
To lead a simple life
Too late for the young gun…
The sun and the moon…
The wind…. and the rain…..”

(c) Orzabal/Holland, “The Year Of The Knife”, from the album “Sowing The Seeds Of Love”, 1989

This was written more in the form of a poem than a set of lyrics, in April 2015. It has since then (late July 2015 to be exact!) been given a musical life by one of my closest collaborators. At some point in the near future, the finished track will be uploaded to accompany the lyrics.

At its heart is a message of sentiment, loss and isolation and draws on the adage of spirit making its presence known by the unexpected appearance of birds or butterflies. The accompanying picture is of a blanket of stars kept in memory of my late father, which had been prepared before his passing. The narration pretty much explains itself. My only concern at the moment is that it is very short. It could be fleshed out musically (akin to Eight Miles High, or something like that), or I could add extra lyrics… I’m sure that once it starts to take shape during the recording sessions for London Road that it will find its own direction.

Birds And Butterflies

Verse 1/
Now you’re gone, I’ve a story to tell
Of how I remember you and you knew me so well
You met me with your heart open wide and no desire to hide
And all I wanted was to be with you for the rest of my life

Verse 2/
You were the only one left sitting next to me
When the others had all left and gone to bed
And then you gave me something to decide
I said yes and the rest of our story was there to be read

Chorus/
Love is a lesson in life when you’re all grown up
Sometimes wish I’d never grown up at all
Every time I see someone who looks like you
For a few seconds, I feel ten feet tall

Its like its all happened before, the second hand’s sweeping by
No more blood from my heart or bloodshot in my eyes
No matter how hard I look, I cant see any birds or butterflies…

(c) Steve McCarthy-Hunt 2015

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