1. |
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Still gonna wish you well
People come, people seem to go, people run around your town,
Passing through, you often seem to wonder, why they just might let you, let you
down.
Sometimes the trust that you are offering, never seems to come back ‘round,
Like a child, waiting by the window, for his father who – can’t be
found.
Can’t believe this is still goin’ on, so many half-truths been withheld,
Better part of honesty’s been broken,
But I say…..what the hell,
Still gonna wish, gonna wish you, wish you well, still gonna wish, gonna
wish you, wish you well.
And I’m not gonna be the one,
To loose sight of the lighter moments,
That shines through the obvious tricks and flowers we forgot to smell.
And I’m not gonna be the one,
To fetch the pale of lost thinking that can’t dampen any fires,
Burning in your, in your private hell.
Sometimes the trust you’ve been offering, never seems to go down well,
Didn’t see the forks you were stealing, silver you’d later sell,
still gonna wish, gonna wish, wish you well.
People justify a lot of things, people cry into their dreams,
Standard bearers always in the past, were the one’s first to be felled,
Still gonna wish, gonna wish, wish you well.
Can’t believe this is still goin’ on, so many
But I say…..what the hell,
Still gonna wish, gonna wish you, wish you well,
Still gonna wish, gonna wish you, wish you well.
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2. |
The Holy Brotherhood
05:30
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The Holy Brotherhood
Two men born on a beach,
One a caesar and one a breach,
Can’t believe much what they say,
But their secret’s safe with me anyway.
The halo and the Saint,
Watercolours and golden paint,
When the rain comes we will see,
But for their secret’s safe with me.
One man is a teacher, the other hides his face,
The bitter smell on incense burns all around my face.
One man is a locum, the other’s here to stay,
The only one we trust we never have to pay.
Whispers round the pillars and aisles that seem to say,
Dominus verbiscum, by any other name.
Majority protected, innocent defamed,
I feel myself complicit in that silent kind of way.
Two men live on a beach, one a saviour and one a thief,
Can’t believe much they say,
But their secrets safe with me anyway.
The halo and the Saint,
Watercolours and golden paint,
When the rain comes we will see,
But for their secret’s safe with me.
Followers protect them, good deeds will the faith,
Worry beads speaker louder that the words they ever pray.
And I can’t see the rhythm of the saints in their eyes,
“I think there’s something goin’ on” in hear a young boy cry.
Whispers round the pillars and aisles that seem to say,
Dominus verbiscum, by any other name.
Majority protected, innocent defamed,
I feel myself complicit in that silent kind of way.
Two men born on a beach, one a brother and one a priest,
Can’t believe much what they say,
But their secret’s safe with me anyway.
The halo and the Saint,
Watercolours and golden paint,
When the rain comes we will see,
But for their secret’s safe with me.
When the rain comes we will see,
But for their secret’s safe with me.
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Greg Were Adelaide, Australia
Greg is a singer/song writer in the folk, indie style.
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