STRANGERS

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Our steps sound lonely through the streets,

poison for agreeable dreams.

here in the darkness, loud voices, dim faces,

pointing shapeless shadows from the dawn.

 

(Don’t talk to strangers), a lone one in a lions lair.

(Don’t talk to strangers), of living silence have no fear.

 

Like an unwanted guest of the savage night,

not accustomed to the flight.

Twilight space her new desire,

echoes from the fire.

Gliding like a Queen

she leaves the station.

 

(Don’t talk to strangers), a lone one in a lions lair.

(Don’t talk to strangers), of living silence have no fear.

 

A coffin gaps this narrow doorway,

strangers roll their hungry eyes.

Victims lie in scarlet dust,

bleeding as the lions roar,

singing newer songs

beyond the grave.

 

(Don’t talk to strangers), a lone one in a lions lair.

(Don’t talk to strangers), of living silence have no fear.

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(c) Carlton McRae, 1987

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A WINTER SONG

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This sentence begins at the moment of birth,

that’s tradition on planet earth.

In for a penny, in for a pound?

I can’t stay too long, can’t hang around.

As we grow and go through school,

we learn to be nobody’s fool.

 

I picked up my guitar and played,

I learned of life a different way, so

out into the world we go.

We’re keen to show off all we know.

Keen but green till we find our feet,

then values change and we’re complete.

 

That’s life in the 20th Century,

it’s one for you & three for me.

All the agro, blame the reds.

It can’t have been the US feds.

‘Star wars’ programme, outer space,

the future of the human race.

 

Mass exodus on the gravy train.

Another shower of acid rain.

The South Pacific mushroom cloud.

Upset kanaks, a foreign crowd.

Who in Auckland sunk the bard?

The French who shit in our back yard.

 

If I still possessed a morale mind

I’d hate to think what I might find.

Won’t stop to look, don’t like the view.

So much is done but by so few.

Dig your hole, create your space,

it’s cold out here in this strange place.

 

It’s time to go inside to play,

we’re going to party here all day.

Sit around the fire, a winter song.

It’s summer soon, it won’t be long.

We need the good times not the tears,

while we’re in our summer years.

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(c) Carlton McRae, 1988

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CONCRETE JUNGLE FATE

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See the people, their familiar faces

on the street today.

Out through the back door,

everyone has slipped away.

Now that everything has changed,

my whole life rearranged.

But still the visions seem the same.

I can't hang around

and wait for things to happen.

I need to get out there,

out amongst the action.

​

In the city, the breeding ground

of white collar crime.

Although you ask them,

no one seems to have the time.

They're too strung out on being late

that all their anger turns to hate.

Call it what you will,

I call it concrete jungle fate.

​

I look around me,

too much hate and too much greed.

Tenants evicted

and another hungry mouth to feed.

What is enough?

What is too much?

In dead end streets they bred 'em tough,

we'll leave them one last straw to clutch.

​

There's still so much to do

before that final curtain falls.

We haven't really scratched the surface

yet at all.

Step outside and look around,

get your head above the ground.

Whatever is lost can still be found.

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(c) Carlton McRae, 1988​​

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BURNING (Out of Control)

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The city breathes a morning sigh.

I catch the breeze, I swim the tide.

As the sun goes down, I begin to play.

All through the night.

All through the night.

All through the night.

 

This fire burns inside with every passing day.

I hope it never dies or ever goes away.

This fire burns inside, the flames lick at my soul,

a fire too fierce too contain or control.

 

Burning (out of control).

 

This fire burns inside,

fuelled by desire

and drawn to heat,

led by my heart toward the pyre.

 

Burning (out of control).

​

(c) Carlton McRae-Simon Dibble-Andrew Richards 1989

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AT THE RIVER'S EDGE (Reprise)

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So much, so much here to bite.

We stop the rain that washes through the night.

As I turn around, a new vision meets my eye.

The wind has changed to anger.

Will it try and hunt me down?

 

I hear echoes, from the valleys they ring out.

Lightning flashes down upon voices heard to shout;

“I am dancing in naked sunlight”.

I’m running with the one who turns the day back into night.

 

Time is now, man has made his plea.

All his feelings, are we free?

All we see and touch and all we feel

remind us that we are real.

And in his mind, man has made a pledge,

all life began at the rivers edge.

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(c) Carlton McRae, 1989

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GIVE ME LOVE

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Hot & cold the heart beats,

like fire and ice.

Up meets down on every corner,

name your price.

Two ships meet but pass by

in the night.

Where North meets South

I hear you calling,

hold on tight.

Hold on tight and give me love.

 

We’re rich and poor but empty,

out of time.

If it’s wrong I’d stop believing,

I would change my mind.

In & out the shadows crawl,

all through the light.

I know that we could make it

if we get it right.

Let’s get it right

and give me love.

 

Like right & wrong within your eyes,

it’s swing and miss.

When lightning strikes the thunder calls me,

one last kiss.

Like black & white divides the line,

it’s time to feed.

Time to choose, the hunger is gaining,

make it bleed.

Make it bleed

and give me love.

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(c) Carlton McRae, 1989

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CHILLS

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He haunts that bar across the street,

caught the bullet in his teeth.

Eighteen, stardust, lots to say and me…

I just can’t stay away.

Chills, the street life serenade

where garage bands are all the rage.

Lyrics, pulse, a frantic pace,

hit and run a younger face.

 

Where is the night?

It is disguised.

There’s another back street stab in the dark.

we look through glass

and glazy eyes

at another blood stained seat in the park.

 

Silent motion, pantomime,

the hands are ticking, ticking time.

Buffalo stance, mental notes,

jigsaw dreams and anecdotes.

I want a dog, a dance machine,

the promised land, some special thing.

The love drug to enhance the lust

and keep it up from dawn till dusk.

 

Where is the night?

It is disguised.

There’s another back street stab in the dark.

we look through glass

and glazy eyes

at another blood stained seat in the park.

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(c) Carlton McRae, 1989

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TOMBSTONED IN BOLTON STREET CEMETERY

​

The hands of time move fast.

She is my future and my past.

All the nails that were in our eyes,

were there to trade some hope for highs.

 

Light the candle, burn the flame,

until we walk these paths again.

And in Bolton Street

let tombstoned thoughts remain,

until we walk these paths again.

 

I’m getting drunk on growing pains

and the poison is flowing through our veins.

It takes a spark to start a fire,

not much more to take us higher.

 

Light the candle, burn the flame,

until we walk these paths again.

And in Bolton Street

let tombstoned thoughts remain,

until we walk these paths again.

​

(c) Carlton McRae, 1989

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REARED IN CAPTIVITY​

​

Strange weather these last years,

stay back in the shade.

look for green in the city

where everything is man made.

we’re lost in confusion,

there’s nothing guaranteed,

the food is on the table,

how many will eat?

 

Two doors and a passageway

lead into the night.

one door is called ‘energy’,

the other for delight.

through an open window

sounds come from the street,

very busy people,

how many will meet?

 

meet late at a cafe,

we can talk all night,

something ‘bout this city

makes me feel so right!

 

There’s chaos and drama,

fever on the rise,

it’s well after midnight,

she’s got Hollywood eyes.

The rain runs a river

through the neon glow,

we’re caught looking for shelter,

where’s a place to go?

 

Go enjoy the nightlife,

we can drink all night,

something ‘bout this city

makes me feel so right!

 

All brothers and sisters

look alike in this town,

in those soft kisses baby,

in your lips I drown.

Reared in captivity,

we’re scientifically bred,

where’s mother nature?

Let’s all roll a head!

​

(c) Carlton McRae-Simon Dibble, 1990

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BOHEMIAN SPIES

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Behind the walls of terror,

beyond the farthest star,

there’s fantasy & magic,

if we trip that far.

Suburban lies, bohemian spies.

 

We’re pirates of the asteroids

from the other side of time,

playing this survival game,

living with our crime.

Suburban lies, bohemian spies.

 

Cigarettes & politics are

fragments of the mind,

fugitives are looking through

lazy diamond eyes.

Suburban lies, bohemian spies.

 

Time began and grew to be

what we now call history.

Attitudes are changing fast,

the future is looking good at last.

 

A life with ghosts and shadows,

caught running in the night.

The demon is in the mirror,

are you taking up the fight?

It’s a cold hard war,

there’s no direction home.

A face from the frost speaks

of blood beyond the stone.

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(c) Carlton McRae, 1990

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SATURDAY LIVE AT THREE

​

A fortnight of life in the big smog,

could comedy hate happen here?

Shoot from the hip in this city,

stand in the crowd if scared.

A late night occult on TV

claimed that she still had a friend,

who later was plunged into darkness,

disappearance & death.

 

People all moving in straight lines,

perception of government schemes.

Fortune favours the brave man

who puts into action his dreams.

 

Paper on walls of the alley read;

‘Saturday live at three’,

but nobody queued for a ticket,

no one but me.

By morning I had some company,

a mother looked up from her day

but the symphony had ended,

there were no notes to play.

 

Somebody joked at the weather,

the actors had rain in their boots.

Solutions were set for the problem,

pointing the gun as he shoots.

 

People all moving in straight lines,

perception of government schemes.

Fortune favours the brave man

who puts into action his dreams.

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(c) Carlton McRae, 1990​​​

 

 

BELLS OF THORNDON​​​​​​​

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Lapsed into the underground,

poison moving in a haze. 
Time waiting for the call to sound,

caught in-between days. 

And the dead know nothing now,

in no mans land he lies. 
A victim of his circumstance,

innocence in his cold, dead eyes. 

And the new age working lass,

still must soldier on. 
Another pie, another pint,

it's forty years on. 
Shoot at me through the TV.

Soldiers fall but still move on. 
Just play the waiting game,

another dance to the same old song. 

On and on,

face each day just the same way. 
Try holding on. 
On and on,

in this state, you're alright mate! 
Try holding on.

​

(c) Carlton McRae-Simon Dibble, 1990

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