I need you I need you ~ George Harrison and Paul McCartney
You’re Owned
You’re a closed book I”m dying to hear Drop me a line I’m needy I care.
I Don’t Think Hank Done It This Way, Okay? ~ Waylon Jennings
Real Outlaws
We run banks Come and get it Our money’s good Lawyers love us And judges too We burn California We buy Panama Your guitar’s paying.
There’s a love I can’t understand Oh, it’s there for awhile then it fades like a smile ~ Merle Haggard and Bonnie Owens
Fade to Dark
From the start You let him steal your heart He loved you just enough And then he’d walk away And so you’d fade away It was too late and too little But you tried to love him As you watched him smile Oh he was a cheater But you played along Like a child pretending Nothing could go wrong Then one day you knew Why you handed him your heart Oh he knew his part And his timing was perfect And you could see him For what he really was A heartless lover Who faded in the dark.
Matt Guntrip is a guitarist, songwriter and indie musician in the UK, who has published four albums, and two singles – Penthesilea and Democracy – via CD Baby, available on most channels. The craft of writing lyrics interests him. Through creative writing, he is working to improve and explore the human experience, nature, time, love, loss, rejection, hope and injustice, and thus write better songs.
Matt has had two pieces published on thewombwellrainbow.com and a poem included in ‘Starman Oddity: Poetry and Art inspired by David Bowie’, a book published via Fevers of the Mind (David L O’Nan).
For a few years Late in life, I worked in prisons “San Quentin I hate every inch of you” Some people I saw inside were evil, this is true But in your song, there was wisdom What use prison, without reform ? As a boy, I somehow sensed your rage was with the ‘justice’ system
On the wings, all around I would see Brothers, sisters, mothers, daughters, sons and fathers Uniforms, clothes and keys, divided us But what your song said to me Fate, chance, or luck, good or bad, took us to this place somehow And either uniform we bore, most of us are just the same
One day at a time
A voice so deep A voice so strong Daddy played bass
Songs for life Laughter and tears And daddy played bass
Building a car, or maybe hope One piece at a time And Daddy played bass
Love Life and death And Daddy played bass
And in between All the scars and all the cuts And all the endings
All the work and all the grime Thank God for songs and a voice of steel So we hold on, one song at a time One day, at a time
Morning Cash
Home was idyllic A teacher mum A pilot dad A brother, A sister, fragile, beautiful, surviving
School days at breakfast In our kitchen, Wogan on Radio 2 A friend for life We liked the Stones But the voice that rang and stayed; Johnny Cash
There were rings of fire Stories; one piece at a time A thing called love But my sister liked and sang, seasons in the sun
Then one day she was gone; our lives for ever changed How we dreaded that knife; seasons in the sun Four of us left to survive, to rebuild without our sunshine So we played your songs, to remember, somehow, and hold on
You think you are gold. That your kingdom is sold That your the medal, the town hope I am here to tell you the metal is strong That is how your ass will feel When it is too late to right your wrongs.
The crows are hovering, Boy, those crows are hovering. The crows, they sense that blood, The lifeless, the pervert that even the tics won't touch
Those felonies aren't just memories. They are your everyday annoyance. The voices that keep you tingling. One more mistake and you're through. Garnishing, banishing, branding You can't hide the racism when panting. Can't keep the ego growing, The "medicines" are showing.
Can't escape the past, One woman must have been caged, The jealousies, control, entrapment is your game. They will come knocking, when the truthers finally speak. You can't handcuff the praying hands. Helicopters circling overhead. Mmm...those crows sense something.
The grey skies are dancing, Your shoes ain't moving, just another white boy that thinks he's grooving, Maybe he admires the grooming. Shaky knees when the storms begin brewing. You think you're the dj, the master, an embarrassment to street cred Hug the blue when you see red. Maniacal control is the hardest strength you'll ever try to keep. Being quiet, being said. You can't bark, your bite is light. And your broken toys won't let you take flight, The dead narcissism eyes are roaming . Like that guy in Aqualung you're foaming.
Well the reapers are soaring, Yeah the reapers are scoring The crows just want a little bite. They know you're scared to fight Your fist don't miss, but the holes sweat. The body tremors and you hide away. In your dungeon, your outside window. Living for the bait. But then a bitch that hides in shame.
Where are you out when Cash is played. Where are you when the Waylon breaks. The passion burned from the town to the city. From the farms to the Mardi Gras Ghetto trains Here you are, wannabe pretender. Acting tough, the bully breaks. Old women and the children doesn't sliver in the crow's hate.
You bring out the worms so easy. The crows are thirsty. They want to spin that planchette. Maybe just a one time thing. You came at me. Now let's see you break me down. Let's see you try to become that clown. Let's see you ride that sound, til the popping stops.
The crows are swarming, Motherfucker those crows are swarming. They don't always give you a warning. Cross bones, boots, and belt buckles. It hasn't been raining hard, but these puddles are insane.
Keep on watching us, crow Keep on playing games, crow Keep on spinning in the wind, crow Keep on wining and crying, crow. Well it looks you just want to keep calling the crows. I ain't no fish and I don't bite the bait, crow
Never knew the word hate, The crows has taught me that the devil escapes until that shedding leaves all his traces. And the dinner is ready!
Uncle Salty told me stories of a lonely Baby with a lonely kind of life to lead ~ Steven Tallarico and Tom Hamilton
Janie’s Song
At home I cried, but no one cared That was the night I understood Their love was for others Pushing was the only life I’d ever know And when I cried, they’d never come And when we met you were singing the blues And I was a dollar-a-dance smoker Sipping salty margaritas And the sun was shining outside my window And you never paid me a dime for anything.
DM Davanti explores the human condition through the cracked lens of a New York upbringing. Currently working on both a debut novel and short story collection, he is married and based in central Pennsylvania. Unsettled by the country quiet of Pennsylvania, Dezmond Davanti works through residual New York noise by penning poetry and horror tales. With short stories and poems appearing in Jazz House Publications, Steering 22, FromOneLIne and Fevers of the Mind anthologies, he is currently working on a short story collection. X: @DmDavanti Bluesky @dezmonddavanti.bsky.social
Signature Wanderlust
Exit the vast vacancy hop the last train out of nowhere and just leave it all behind; exchange a static life to embrace the strange expanse flashing by. Listen for the frantic wail of a saxophone somewhere in the distance ride it straight into the throbbing vortex of the Great American Scream. There are mysteries at the end of dirt roads; juke joints that never close, tiny towns where joy is a harvest and character remains the local currency. Standing in cold rain bloody knuckles, mud caked boots and empty pockets but at least you know you’re free.
Harrisburg Revisited
There are no pigeons in Harrisburg. They are all down in Lancaster trafficking Amish mail. There is nothing left in Harrisburg but empty storefronts and blank stares.
Fevers of the Mind 