There’s comfort in melancholy

A friend recently made the observation that I always seem sad in my blogs. Perhaps that’s the Piscean curse, pulled by deep currents and emotional tides. There’s nothing to worry about, tis the nature of the beast and the seas I swim in.

 

On Friday I woke feeling tired and ever so slightly creased. Something had shifted like luggage in overhead lockers but not settled back into place. Seeing my father had set off a chain of thought about mortality and the futility of winning a point. All we can do is journey through, do our best and show kindness to people. Good friends and family, our health, a well-stocked larder and love. Fuck the rest and all who cast off looking for more.

I busied myself with cleaning the house from top to toe in readiness for my ten guests due later for the annual end of summer gathering. Luckily my iPod was on fire which helped focus and brightened the mood with a life raft of the great and good.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lVHRqDjSku0&noredirect=1

If you're so funny 
Then why are you on your own tonight? 
And if you're so clever 
Then why are you on your own tonight? 
If you're so very entertaining 
Then why are you on your own tonight? 
If you're so very good-looking 
Why do you sleep alone tonight? 
I know ...'Cause tonight is just like any other night 
That's why you're on your own tonight 
With your triumphs and your charms 
While they're in each other's arms...’
It's so easy to laugh 
It's so easy to hate 
It takes strength to be gentle and kind 
Over, over, over, over 

Later a trickle turned into a flood and by 7.30 the house was full and my dining room table groaning under the weight of a wondrous spread of food. I counted my blessings to work with such a beautiful, funny, articulate and talented bunch of people. The high point was Mike H playing Kate and delivering a beautiful heartfelt version of Hope There’s Someone which was a wonderful surprise but returned my thoughts to turmoil, albeit briefly. My ability to bounce back leads me to believe there will be someone, someday. I’m certainly popular in some (hind) quarters.

http://vimeo.com/12824413

Hope there's someone 
Who'll take care of me 
When I die, will I go 

Hope there's someone 
Who'll set my heart free 
Nice to hold when I'm tired 

There's a ghost on the horizon 
When I go to bed 
How can I fall asleep at night 
How will I rest my head 

Oh I'm scared of the middle place 
Between light and nowhere 
I don't want to be the one 
Left in there, left in there 

On Sunday evening Mike R treated me to a delightful supper at Pompoko. It was a rare pleasure to eat out in these days of austerity and sample at least one of the delights of Japan again; the other is 8 hours ahead. I feasted on Gyoza Dumplings and Prawn Shouga Yaki Don, both delicious. The lovely N told me later that the word pompoko describes the sound made as you pat your belly which made me smile and like the place even more. After a quick pit stop at Marwoods for a palette refreshing tea, we headed for the Dome and a night of stirring sounds.  

 

John Grant was splendid as expected and the new material sounded great too. He ended his set with a blinding version of the Queen of Denmark and I could have left then before the headliner and been satisfied. John was looking mighty fine too as usual (swoon).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b_oNylzsY7I

I wanted to change the world
But I could not even change my underwear
And when the shit got really really out of hand
I had it all the way up to my hairline
Which keeps receding like my self-confidence
As if I ever had any of that stuff anyway
I hope I didn't destroy your celebration
Or your Bar Mitzvah, birthday party or your Christmas
You put me in this cage and threw away the key
It was this 'us and them' shit that did me in
You tell me that my life is based upon a lie
I casually mention that I pissed in your coffee
I hope you know that all I want from you is sex
To be with someone that looks smashing in athletic wear
And if your haircut isn't right you'll be dismissed
Get your walking papers and you can leave now.

And if you can handle a bit more, here’s Sinead O’Connor’s take on the song. Needless to say it fits like a glove and I look forward to her contribution to John’s new record due in the New Year (you will hear the screams).

http://vimeo.com/43301877

John started his musical life in a band called the Czars but it was not a happy marriage and by 2004 he was the sole remaining member. Despite critical acclaim (check out the sublime swansong ‘Goodbye’ album) the band sold next to nothing and John pretty much gave up. He was living in New York working in a hospital as a Russian medical interpreter and waiting tables when Midlake sponsored his return to the studio.

John still plays Little Pink House as part of his set and it’s here for your listening pleasure.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lJFr1ipOcwA

 

Efterklang took to the stage soon after swollen by the Northern Sinfonia to deliver epic crystal clear sound shapes. It was quite beautiful and lovely to see new and old instrumentation subtly meshing to form something different and true. Both sides complimenting rather than battling as is sometimes the case. Here’s the track ‘The Ghost’ performed at the Sydney Opera House earlier this year. Enjoy until the next time...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hwkoJ33be7U

 

Bit Strictly then

Carroll-Turner Piano Services arrived on time but I was surprised to see a man at the door. He set immediately to work and after an hour of plonking and rippling scales Kate was once again in tune much to my delight. However, he also revealed that she had a terminal illness and would not remain in tune for long so my happiness was short lived. I set myself the task of finding someone to stroke her keys at least once before her split back brought discord once more.

This is one of my favourites from her namesake.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aZ03rCC0IBg

Oh the dawn has come
And the song must be sung
And the flowers are melting
What kind of language is this?

Later I went into town for coffee and on the way stopped briefly to peruse the window of Kemptown books, one of the few remaining independents left in the city. A woman joined me, and we found ourselves weaving in and out as we scanned the hardbacks. To my absolute delight she said ‘that was a bit strictly then wasn’t it’ and we both burst out laughing. Brighton really is a marvellous place.

I met Ed at Ground as arranged and it was lovely to see him and catch up. Inevitably he still wears the shroud of his recent loss but talk of future travel plans was a good sign, and I urged him to visit Tokyo which is still in my thoughts thanks to my Japanese lover.

Ground always surprises with its retro music and as if by arrangement the purple one was playing as we talked. Ed and I saw him together at one of the 21 Nights in London shows back in 2007 and due to the many encores we missed our train home. We ended up at some terrible gay bar until closing time and then made the best of the cold pavement outside Victoria until first light, keeping warm with coffee and using pasties as hot water bottles. There’s joy in repetition and blistering guitar solos.

All the poets and the part-time singers always hang inside
Live music from a band plays a song called "Soul Psychodelicide"
The song's a year long and had been playing 4 months
When he walked into the place
No one seemed 2 care

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XDiRUM_7T1I

Marije joined us for another round of steaming cups and the conversation buzzed around celibacy versus promiscuity, the kiss test, anxieties of dating and madness of men before a text message announced that sweetness, sexiness, sexy mess & honesty was ready to be collected. I said my goodbyes and dashed off, my heart pounding with the anticipation of the sensuous entwinement to come.

Our faerie groove was interrupted by the insistent ring of my landline. It was Thelma from Northampton, one of my father’s real family calling to tell me that he’d taken a turn for the worse and was in hospital. My feelings were a Jekyll and Hyde test tube of genuine concern, complete indifference laced with resentment and guilt. I decided to let my brain unravel the mess overnight whilst coiled in a hirsute embrace.

Life takes some queer steps

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V3_TsrKmBwQ

Everybody's talking and no one says a word
Everybody's making love and no one really cares
There's Nazis in the bathroom just below the stairs
Always something happening and nothing going on
There's always something cooking and nothing in the pot
They're starving back in China so finish what you got

Nobody told me there'd be days like these
Nobody told me there'd be days like these
Nobody told me there'd be days like these
Strange days indeed -- strange days indeed

‘A memoir is how one remembers one’s own life, while an autobiography is history, requiring research, dates, facts double checked. I’ve taken the memoir route on the ground that even an idling memory is apt to get right what matters most.’ Gore Vidal - Palimpsest

Excerpt from a memoir - Stabilised

As a young boy my greatest pleasure was to wrestle my bicycle from the depths of the coal shed, wipe off the dark dust and go out for a ride. I would race up and down the roads, confident and upright thanks to the stabilisers bolted to my rocket ship.

I remember one summer day in particular. A trip to Aunty Sally had rewarded me with a homemade toffee apple which dripped snaking patterns of caramel down my arm. With a smile handlebar wide I munched the prize whilst serenading the hot flannel sun with gleeful bell ringing. At the time we lived in a prefabricated bungalow; cracked white asbestos walls and rattling windows. Dad was mostly away at sea back then, but today he was home on shore leave.

‘What are doing?’ My toffee apple dropped to the ground and rolled away. I was startled from my warm glow as the chill wind of my father’s voice shrank me back to reality. ‘You don’t need those; you’re not a baby.’ He was pointing at the stabilisers on my bicycle, and I trembled in the black cape of his shadow as he reached down to grip and pull me closer. ‘Get off’ he ordered, and I meekly obeyed, standing to one side as he crouched to remove the offending wheels with a spanner.

In minutes he was done and holding the bicycle steady with a hairy tattooed arm. ‘Get on it then’ - I shook my head and backed away. ‘Get on the bloody bike.’ The bicycle crashed to the ground as he lunged forward to pincer my arms with his thick leathery fingers. The smell of stale beer and cigarettes hanging heavy in the air as he growled ‘will you get on or do I make you?’ I clambered onto the saddle, my heart racing as I eyed the ground littered with shards of grit ready to tear me. ‘Don’t look at the ground. Look straight ahead and just ride. It’s easy.’ With a push from his powerful arms I was away and hurtling down the street, furiously peddling and holding on for dear life. For a few seconds I stayed upright but as the momentum of my launch faded I began to wobble and twist, looking down at the ground blurring beneath me. I crashed near a lamp post and bounced into some short grass, scraping my knee as I came to a stop. Winded I laboured to stand as dad closed on me like a spotlight in his white singlet. He looked angry and shook his head from side to side. ‘You bloody idiot. Why did you look at the ground?  Get up you stupid sod!’ I did as I was told and picked up the bicycle, also scratched and scraped. I wanted to run to mum, but I knew ‘hiding behind her skirts’ would make him even angrier; in our house boys did not cry. ‘Try again or I’ll knock your block off’ he ordered and fearing the sting of his hand I climbed back on the saddle but once more fell a few yards away in a twisted heap. ‘You useless little sod. Anyone can ride a bike.’ With the back wheel spinning like a space station I rose to my feet squeaking barely audible anguished sobs. Not due to the pain, but because I desperately wanted my father to love me and I wanted to please him. He was walking towards me again and this time I ran fast, moments later spinning through the kitchen door in a typhoon of tears. Leaving her paper and cigarette, mum swallowed me in her arms. ‘What’s wrong? Did you fall off your bike?’ Lifting me, she walked me around, miraculously finding a damp teacloth and Iodine on her circuit which she applied after seating me at the table. The Iodine stung like a thousand wasps, prompting more tears. I have a number of scars from that day but the only one visible is on my knee.

‘Just Kids’ Patti Smith’s delightful memoir kept me company as the train thundered through the green blur of England.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-uK2FoKdEh4

I was a wing in heaven blue
Soared over the ocean
Soared over Spain
And I was free
Needed nobody
It was beautiful
It was beautiful

The journey was painless and swift and I was soon walking through Northampton for the first time in many years. Memories flooded my mind as I walked up from the station - the listening booths of John Lever Records, Frank Brierley with his microphone in the bargain basement, the white chiffon clouds of Gallones ice cream and Oliver Adams butter crisp meat pies.

I stopped for directions by All Saints Church and two sweet old ladies set me on the right path with a customary ‘me duck’ and I knew I was home for better or worse. Then an eternity of corridors eventually led me to the Collingtree ward and the yellow bay. I stood outside with a pounding heart trying to slow down the spin of my thoughts.

Dad was awake but gazing up at the ceiling so I sat quietly and unnoticed on a nearby chair and took in the scene. He was dressed in red pyjamas with tubes snaking his body cocooned in a florid bed spread. I moved closer and he noticed my shape, looking across toward me with sightless eyes. ‘Who’s that?’ It crossed my mind to just stand and walk away but instead I replied ‘It’s Robert; how are you doing?’ and he smiled. ‘Thanks for coming; I’m not too good.’

He was clearly in some pain so I held his hand and encouraged him to tell me stories to take his mind off things and feed my own curiosity. Christened Henry Robert he was one of 11 children and only he and Aunty Pat still survive. He joined the Royal Navy in 1940 aged 16 after a short stint in the Home Guard and rejection by the Royal Marines for being ‘too small.’ He was lucky and survived the horrors of war but told of North Sea conveys, battles in the Mediterranean, drowning men and the menace of U Boats. In 1947 he married Doreen Alice whilst on shore leave and they spent a brief honeymoon in a prefab donated for the weekend by a relative. He returned to sea on the Monday and would be away for many months. No wonder the marriage failed and mum allegedly took to affairs with ‘Yanks’ and Kenny his brother. I asked dad if he’d enjoyed a woman in every port but he was adamant that he’d remained faithful. I find this hard to believe, but perhaps sailors don’t count.  I realised for the first time that I had inherited my father’s lust for travel and my mother’s lust for flesh. A combination which I wholeheartedly approve of and do my best to enjoy. Dad seemed to regret that things didn’t work out and I think he genuinely loved mum but as he observed ‘life took some queer steps.’ He spoke most fondly of the southern hemisphere and said that he wanted us to live there with him but mum wouldn’t leave Northampton. He spent his time in Australia training sailors to crew HMAS Sydney and said that Tauranga in New Zealand was his favourite place on Earth. I decided to visit there next year when I see Karin & Daniel.

I left him with a promise to visit again ‘before he goes’ and made my way through the chill streets with just spits of rain for company, trying to avoid the temptations of greasy pies and ice cream. To my absolute astonishment I stumbled across a gem I never knew existed. A Charles Rennie Mackintosh designed house nestling like a beacon amongst the wounds left by decades of town planners; another reason to return one day.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UJSBaLddknw

The rain falls hard on a humdrum town
This town has dragged you down
Oh, the rain falls hard on a humdrum town
This town has dragged you down
Oh, no, and everybody's got to live their life
And God knows I've got to live mine
God knows I've got to live mine
William, William it was really nothing
William, William it was really nothing
It was your life...

The William in the song is none other than Billy Mackenzie who wrote the reply ‘Stephen You're Really Something.’ They were lovers I suspect J

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vb3KOdhDkF8

You know the love god
You must change your heart
We're coming sweet stubble
Well we're nothing but trouble
Stephen you're still really something

Some of us want our own experiences,

Others have to share...

 

 

 

 

 

Friday was made special as a pull of curtains revealed blue, yellow darts shooting to feast on sunflower carcases heavy with seed. What a truly joyful sight and totally unexpected. I dressed for work with a broad smile worthy of Chris Packham. Life stood still and stared http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rMj1L_uunAw

Red Sails make him strong
Action make him sail along
Life stands still and stares

As I left the house a package on the doorstep revealed the new Martha Wainwright album and this was gleefully slid into my car CD as I drove to my 9 to 5. First impressions were good but Martha’s emotive take on Proserpina was a lovely surprise. The song, written by her mother Kate McGarrigle, was performed at ‘A Not So Silent Night’ on the December 9th 2009. Kate would succumb to cancer a few weeks later on January 18^th 2010. Here is that last performance which I was lucky enough to witness and Martha’s own beautiful interpretation.

http://vimeo.com/12183699

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3ZGLMM6WD3w

 

 

I found myself sobbing in the car with the beauty of it. You can feel her loss in the voice and the prospect of my own mother’s passing surfaced once more. I’m sure Martha will perform the song on the 7^th December when my beautiful companion Marije and I go to see her at St Georges. I will take tissues along, just in case.

Prosepina, Prosepina go home to your mother
Go home to Hera now
She has punished the Earth
She has turn down the heat
She has taken away every morsel stone
Where she walks cry-crying alone

My day at work was uneventful aside from email exchanges with my ex tutor and an arrangement made to meet on Tuesday to give feedback. Abigail was the one good thing about the course and I’ll be sure to let her know this but also be candid and frank. She will need to stand back; I made the right decision.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v_dWP6_o8L8




No regrets
No tears goodbye
Don't want you back
We'd only cry again
Say goodbye again

 

After work I met dear friend Paul at Cafe Délice, my hang out of choice on Kensington Gardens. It’s been years since we worked together at the old Komedia, but as was always the way, my secrets were teased from me. I welcome Paul’s take on all matters and we talked effortlessly of love, monogamy, Gooner, group sex, promiscuity, flakes (not the Cadbury variety), recreational drugs, babies, domestic violence, my father and eggs. It was an oasis with a deep well to be drunk often now that Paul works in Brighton again.

Saturday saw more hoards with pained expressions asking the same questions, but thanks to the engaging company of Catherine, Amy and Olly the day was peppered with laughter. I also got paid which I find really helps maintain my enthusiasm on these occasions.

After a quick pit stop to feed Mike’s beautiful boys I returned home to tend my own charges who welcomed me with a chorus of frenzied clucking. To my surprise, both allowed me to pick them up today for a quick stroke which was magical. Whilst they scratched and dug, I toiled in the garden and harvested six pumpkins the size of planets.

https://www.facebook.com/?ref=tn_tnmn#!/photo.php?v=10151066031921507

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Beyond the Sun

Tuesday saw summer dust forming recognisable shapes after weeks of opacity. But the day started with a sense of dread as my hand snaked for the alarm in the darkness. The drive to Hastings was spent churning in thought for 90 minutes in rain and rush hour traffic but I chose to keep calm and carry on. The morning was actually better than expected (despite half the class having disappeared since last week) and my spirits brightened a little as I tucked into a lunchtime baguette. However my afternoon tutor’s random, dismissive, breakneck pace trampled the green shoots, driving me once more to distraction. An unexpected fire alarm gave brief respite but as I stood outside all I could think of was walking away. The all clear beckoned us back to our desks and in minutes I was a seething, stress ball of frustration once again. I left the class feeling despondent but still clinging to a vestige of hope that things could get better.

The journey home gave me the luxury of thinking space to decipher the day and align thoughts whilst falling under the spell of Bat for Lashes ‘The Haunted Man’

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HQ9gv5VMksM

 

By the time Martha had landed me safely on the drive I had made my decision to leave the course. Life really is too short to lose 155 hours feeling bored or frustrated. Although my hopes of being stimulated and inspired had flat lined there was solace to be had with Radio Reverb and plans for Christmas specials and features over the coming months. I would learn by doing and teach myself the intricacies of Pro Tools 10. Sometimes it takes a detour to reach the right path.

Wednesday brought autumnal blue skies and a clear head; the shelves of my mind racked and tidy once more. With a sense of hope Martha sped me north to see the person I love more deeply than any other, the inimitable Doreen Alice. The journey was the usual trip wire mix of road works, speed traps and stop and start which make 21^st century travel such a pleasure.  Battles proved the ideal soundtrack to my journey and ‘Futura’ synced divinely as I drifted across lanes to merge with the bloodstream of the M25 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j-rvJsH_WcU

 

I arrived in Northampton just after 12 and as usual was shocked by the Jesus Army takeover of the old ABC Cinema and the creeping deprivation of the Kettering Road. This must be the place I waited years to leave http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OK9_pViBWNY

 

Mum was frail but her hair was tidy; a litmus test which always reassures me. The state of the house was a concern, clutter, dust and a kitchen in need of urgent attention but I have resigned myself to keeping quiet and just accepting lifestyle choices. As long as she and Colin are healthy and happy I’ll be quiet unless I see danger. Whilst Colin made lunch I sat by mum’s side and stroked her arm as she nibbled biscuits and drifted into sleep. Nothing in this world is more precious to me and nothing more terrifying than the thought of losing her one day. It would be a solar system without a sun; life would wither and die. Billy Mackenzie and Alistair McQueen chose to follow Lily and Joyce after their passing and sometimes I feel the same pull. Perhaps the bond between a gay son and his mother dictates this. As selfish as it may appear, would there be any reason to continue in a world without sunshine? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_YmBYcEGlok

 

Beyond the sun
We'll find a new eclipse
Treasured as one
Oceans of crystal ships
What are we going through
What are we going to do
Help me to understand
While others seem to plan
Beyond the sun.

‘Don’t get upset’ broke my reverie. Mum had woken to see quiet tears snaking down my face. ‘I love you so much’ she said as her hand embraced mine. We joined in a womb of closeness exclusive to a mother and child. Love does not express that feeling of oneness.

 

Barbara Hepworth - Mother & Child

The drive home was fairly smooth despite rush hour madness and tail gating commuters. I cried periodically as I  thought about the day but survived and immediately called mum to confirm my safe arrival. The warmth of her voice had me welling up once more and I vowed to see her more often whilst there is still time.

We all have two choices

Be a stiff or move

Be a stranger to your skin

Or get in the groove...

Sunday morning saw blue skies and two more eggs bringing the weekly tally to an Olympian 14. The girls are on fire and I forgave Joni her recent attempt at street theatre, my embarrassment and her almost certain death. After a tasty brunch of muffins crowned with reds and yellows, I moved to my desk with a super strength latte to tinker with the Christmas playlist; substituting tracks and blending the elements to give a smooth and satisfying finish.



The process begins every year with a choice of song to open and close, and then a Rubik cube shuffle to blend sonic colours until the process is finished.

 

 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YbLS_gzxXnA

I've got a lover back in Japan
He's got tattoos, he's my Superman

I try to call him up from time to time

We can talk about the weather, "Is the weather fine?"

 

A green icon appearing on my desktop showed N to be online and my heart fluttered like one of the cliff top kestrels I see regularly on my drive to work. An 8 hour time difference separates us, and as a result we generally miss each other, but today luck was on our side. It was wonderful to see his face again and I was reminded of the electricity and connection we had back in March. Why is it that I always seem to fall for men who are seemingly unobtainable? Do I perhaps unconsciously allow my heart to open when I realise these liaisons would struggle to deliver commitment? Or is it simply bad luck? Whatever the case, N is one who I would not hesitate to move in if the opportunity arose. Despite the age difference our wavelengths are entwined like our bodies where when we met, and time effortlessly joyful. N is no MP3, but the full 48 kHz, 24 bit deal. We talked for an hour about life and distance, love and futures and I dreamed of possibilities and tangents ahead before N was compelled to succumb to ‘nature’s soft purse’ and he was gone. If only Skype could allow touch. I decided that an overdraft facility has its use and that I would fly east again next year.  

‘Teardrop’ will always remind me of N and a rainy Asakusa night when worlds collided. It shuffled on the iPod as we made love that night.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u7K72X4eo_s

Love, Love is a verb

Love is a doing word
Fearless on my breath
Gentle impulsion
Shakes me, makes me light
Fearless on my breath

 

Liz Frazer heard that Jeff Buckley had disappeared whilst she was recording Teardrop with Massive Attack. They had been lovers. ‘That was so weird,’ she says. "I'd got letters out and I was thinking about him. That song's kind of about him – that's how it feels to me anyway.’ She is haunted by guilt: for not being there for Buckley, for everything. As she puts it: "I need to forgive myself." (Dave Simpson - The Guardian - 26 November 2009)

We all need to forgive ourselves and others.

Light on stairs - Saturday 13 October 2012

Lest we forget here is Buckley in all his glory with easily the finest interpretation of Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah.  Listening to the song reminded me of Alasdair W who also loved the song. We lost him this year and I remembered the teardrops of the 14th July 2012.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HKnxmkOAj88

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WIF4_Sm-rgQ&feature=fvwrel

I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
And even though it all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah

I returned to Christmas and version 7 was duly burnt for appraisal in the car as I journey to work.  It's usually cooked and ready by version 10.

 

 

Sunday afternoon was spent in Horsham again for a repeat of dressing up, tomfoolery and fun had by all. D did not show, but G observed that ‘like a Panda, he eats, shoots and leaves’ which made me laugh out loud. Maybe it was for the best because apparently he's 'straight' but get's lost occasionally. No doubt my seat in hell was dusted and my name highlighted for special punishment. Looking on the bright side, prior to the 1861 repeal of the 1533 Buggery Act I’d have been hung for my fun. Happy days…

Searching on the internet I came across this footage of the Brighton Mark Eitzel show and realised that the last song of the set introduced here as ‘Thank You, We have Two Choices’ is my favourite song from the new record. Enjoy J

http://lyricsjunction.com/lyrics/mark-eitzel/we-all-have-to-find-our-own-way-out/