Marek’s Camp

Marek’s Camp CD cover



Baby don’t worry,

I will return from the ocean floor.

And would you wait for me

while I harbour the private storm


My eyes go out to sleep.

Make like a Manatee,

with tales I can’t describe

through Sunday night eyes


I’m in recline.

I’m coming down

and fading before your eyes.

This hole is mine

and it’s filling fast against the swelling tide.


Temper so tender.

Touch like a fragile anthracite.

Wrap me up in a string of electric lights.


Brighton Breakfast

Sugar on the lips,

put a lifetime on my lizard hips.

And those fleeting seconds at your fingertips,

when we were cool and handsome,

too good to resist.

And will you still come back to the sea with me?

And maybe fall off the wagon for me?

It’s two-for-one, the shots are free.

Let’s go out drinking with the divorcees.


When you dance just like a spinning top,

don’t ever let this perfect summer moment stop.

I got Cuban heels, a denim hand,

on a leopard skin brain in leather pants.

But get me out of here, I hate this tribute band.

Come on down to the sea with me,

I’m learning to be more womanly.

But can you dance on a stick for me?


It was cold in the ground

and the day was dawning

and the sunrise caught me

without warning.

You’re my static caravan,

but I’m a faded awning

and I look like Robert Smith in the morning.


There’s seagulls in my stubble

and the nicotine is yellowing my toast

and tempering my tea.

Let’s raise a glass to the divorcees,

on a Brighton Breakfast,

and weekends by the sea



As a port I am shallow

so my ships run aground.

And my shingle is littered

with the driftwood you found.

As your waves lapped against me

they removed all my gold.

Now my pockets are empty

as the shoreline is old.


But I won’t leave you wanting.

I won’t let you go hungry,

’cause what little I’ve got

I can give you a lot

’cause my heart is as full

as the shoreline is old.


People will tell you

respect must be earned

and the point of a kindness

is a kindness returned.

But if you have a conscience

you can make up your mind

If it hurts to be cruel

or does it hurt to be kind?


So my son, sit beside me,

there are things to be said.

But they can wait ’til tomorrow

so just lay down your head.

And my arms wrap you up

for to keep out the cold

and to keep you as safe

as the shoreline is old.


The Grand Union

There’s moonlight on the mantlepiece.

And the bar light paints gold on the street.

And when I fly high

to your window tonight,

put your book down

and come drinking with me.


This wine is a lover to me

and I’ll melt in its soft melody.

But I’ll hang my guitar

on the shelf above the bar,

if you drink through the optics with me.


And when I climb up to your window tonight

and skip like the rain on your roof.

And I’ll sing to the stars,

how much I love the bar

and everyone who sails within.


And when I fly high

to your window tonight,

put your book down

and come drinking with me.


Poor Bernadette

Never look back

At the lines behind you fading into black.

And the man you long to be

Is defined by that which you lack.


I’m not cold

But I’ve heard it told,

Your yesterdays

Were not cast out of solid gold.


And I know these moments,

they are written on your skin

Burrowed in the bark and finding

sustenance within.

Visit, write or call me

I will certainly be in.

At least for now.

Or maybe always.

I’ll go down.

Taking the long road home.


I lie by your side.

Trying not to move.

’Cause this second

is the only one that’s true.

Those others passed me by

Now they’re impossible to prove.


I’m a ghost

So I stop breathing.

Holding you close,

Folding you in like plastecine.


And you know I’m holding out

For you to be my wife.

And we talk about our fathers

And your thoughts on married life

And I’m asking

If you think you can

Sustain this appetite.

At least for now

Or maybe always.

We’ll go down

Taking the long road home


Poor Bernadette.

Clawed and picked to pieces

Like knots in my regret.

A relic

Left to nature,

A more worthy epithet.


Watch me drown

Where we sat talking.

And when it pours down

I will breathe and take in your petrichor


And you know these moments

They are chiselled in my bones.

Buried in the fecund earth,

Exhumed when I’m alone.

And I plough a shallow furrow

Where my hopes are barely sown.


I will toil

And I will nurture,

Tend this soil,

And I will endure.

At least for now

Or maybe always.

I’ll go down.

Taking the long road home.


Bucketful of Ordinary

Windswept and ugly,

weeds in the concrete

and plastic crisp packets

blowing across garages.

Bare is this mud that cracks in the goalmouth

and flakes like the mortar on bricks at the bus stop.


Mine is a bucket,

brimming with ordinary.

Yours is a halo

of low wattage bulbs.

And they pepper my sky

like luminous particles.


I still cut through the gaps

in broken down fences,

through hawthorn and foxglove

and sweet stinging nettle.

Yours is this galaxy of purple sweet wrappers,

when I dig for treasure through lunch in the rucksack.


Collecting the tat from crap Christmas crackers.

My rocket science does fireworks each year.

Yours is this halogen light on the pub car park.

Mine is some puddle reflecting the beer.


Black Funky Metal

I’ll cut my hair to above my knees.

I’m so tired of these black and white trees

and starting fires at the pulpit,

burning down the churches


I keep a dead raven in my bag.

I like to inhale the fumes.

And when I bury my clothes in the ground,

it’s ’cause I kinda like the smell of death all around me.


I need a Christian Elevator built into my Kota

Then I think I’ll see the light

I need a Christian Elevator built into my Kota

Someone help me see the light


The sun comes up I stay inside,

I gotta keep myself wilted and white.

And I’m so sorry I let the gun off inside,

Excuse all the blood; I just blew off my head


Torch a church, it makes you feel better

Torch a church, it makes you feel better

Hail Satan, then blame the weather.


I’ll wash the pentagram from my hand

and sack the bass player from the band

’cause he met The Prince of Darkness on the stairs

and stabbed him to death in his underwear.


Nice For Jorge

Scorch this land to start anew.

When I wash my hands and feet I will remove all trace of you.

But I will carry you at my side

As our faces sink below

As the banks burst with my pride.


I will swim.

I will drown.

I will tear sky open with the peace that I have found.


Mark these words you wore this well

and the chords of your endurance are a story I will tell.

As I sit back and open wide,

Will my ears choke on the echoes of your talk of suicide?


I will call a cab to take you home.

Are you really better on your own?

and I’m waiting now the seed is sown.

But the giant redwood’s slowly grown.

As the first arrive to cast their stone.

For to split the lip and to crack the bone.

’Cause the flesh is weak but the heart is prone.

And the bulb explodes when the fuse is blown.


Scorch this land to start anew.

When I wash my hands and feet I will remove all trace of you.

But I will carry you at my side,

as our faces sink below,

as the banks burst with my pride


Carve Your Own Lovespoon

No lyrics it’s an instrumental


Mutt Lange

Everybody seems to need to find

some kind of superhero in their life;

half-man, half-something,

half-promised and most probably nothing.


I’m not saying that I never tried,

but I laddered my tights

on the way up to your window.

On those first glorious, carefree nights,

when I was hanging like a fairy

some way halfway up your downpipe.


And I won’t be arriving through the sky.

I’m about as frequent as a meteorite.

And I’m not aerodynamically designed,

I’m kinda programmed to mess up,

I’m not airbrushed, so I won’t even try

And I guess you’ll be taking or leaving,

whatever you believe in


So when the strings drift out of line,

’cause I forgot the notes

and the signature and timing.

I’ve been floating in my very own sky

This can only disappoint you

but it’s really no surprise

to know that someday I’ll never grow up.

I know that while I was gone

I missed a whole lot of good stuff


But I won’t be returning through the sky.

And it won’t be my wing tip that brushes your face

when you’re sleeping through the night.

I’m as destructive as a meteorite.

I hope that someday you’ll make some sense,

of all the clouds and turbulence



Fit me into your love my dear.

Tie me like laces.

Bind me into your side awhile

With careful embraces.


I found here in your arms,

Lines written in my DNA.


Cut me down to the bone my love.

Try me in stages.

Don’t leave me on my own out here

Or tear out our pages.



on the deck,

in the night,

Orbiting your smile.

Born to be caught in the pull of your Saturn eyes.


So fit me into your love my dear.

Tie me like laces.

Write me into your history.

Volumes and spaces.


Ayurveda Louisa

Ayurveda Louisa,

come heal my mind, my body, my soul.

And if your heart goes aching,

I’ll break my own heart a whole lot more.

’Cause when you dance with the other men,

through the summer hours in the orangery,

wear this sweet petal in your hair

and I’ll yearn eternally.


Those slender chimes I peal,

of hope and happiness.

Under the lantern roof

with my heart pressed to your chest.


But don’t fool our throats

and taint our lips,

nor stain our straying fingertips,

’cause I’m standing still and sinking fast,

I fear the summer may not last.

I’ll shave the puzzle pieces ’til they fit

Fit our straying fingertips.

But don’t fool our throats and taint our lips.


Ayurveda Louisa,

come heal my flesh, my blood, my bones.

You look so heavenly

under the starlit portico;

as sweet as briar on the heath

on stolen forbidden feet.

Wear this soft petal in your hair

and I’ll yearn eternally.


No, don’t fool these lips

or taint our fingertips

’cause I’m sinking fast.