HARD TIMES
©Trev Teasdel Coventry October 1970


Hard times
You say you’ve got hard times.
Do you know what hard times are?
Do you know what hard times are?
Do you really know what hard times are?


Oh sure times are rough
Life is hard
You try to tell me you’ve had enough
But if you can;t cope then that’s tough.
Hard times
What are you doing about them?
Sit on your arse and moan.
Go out and make your life worthwhile
Don;t give in after only one mile.
Ah hard times
You wallow in apathy
Only yourself to blame.
You haven’t tried
Instead you have cried.
Don;t squander your energies.
Go out and climb those trees.


Ah hard times
They’re not my scene
My grass is green
from ploughing my fields all day.
Take what you’ve got and start sowing your seeds.
Discover the wealth within you
A golcondo that you never knew of,
Ah hard times
Too many people give in.
Hard times
I don’t believe in hard times.

COBWEBS
©Trev Teasdel Coventry May 1970


The sun shone through the window of my room
But didn’t see me hanging
from a cobweb in the gloom.
The spider laughed like Dracula
like death he looked so mean.


Chorus
When you’re tangled in a cobweb
You can’t pursue your dreams
The spider clips your wings
And condemns you to his schemes.


There are many caught in cobwebs
in many city rooms
But the sun only takes a peep
then passes on its way.
If you’re lucky you can catch it
as it flits along your row.
But rainbows never last too long
and cobwebbed people are too slow.


Working for the spider
is such a terrible drag.
There’s nothing worth living for
and so your gusto sags.
Alcohol becomes a substitute
for the sun that never shone.
and everyday cobwebs fall
as the spider promptly weaves
another proletarian’s webb
just to keep the wheel in spin
on this materialistic world.


(You have to be together
cos the sun is here then gone.)


So many people caught in cobwebb
situations
wishing to pursue their dreams
till they find their are caught
in cobwebbs.

BABY IN THE MORNING
©Trev Teasdel Coventry June 1970


Baby in the morning
when our friendship was just forming
I remember your eyes
wide as Lily ponds
that sit beneath the meadow hill.
And your hair, blond as a Daffodil
Flowing so freely in the air.
like a poem by Walter De La Mare.
And i see the love you wore
like a cloak worn in summertime,
only to be discarded
when autumn leaves
were falling like leaflets from a plane.
And how your promises were like
ocean waves crashing down upon the beach.
like fallin’ a hollow tree.
And our fortress in the air
where I was king and you were queen
fell victim to the ever flowing stream of changes
that besieged our treasured bliss.
like moths upon a suit.
And I’m sitting wondering why,
trying to catch a reason.
But reasons are like dust upon a shelf.
And now it’s nearly morning
and it’s tear drops that are forming.
and I’m still trying to reason why
we let our toast get brown.

DUCHESS OF THE MOORS
©Trev Teasdel Coventry June 1970


‘Cross the slag heaps and rugged moors i travelled
Through quarries deep and murky.
Past deserted stations
Haunted houses lined my path.
I came across the Duchess of the Moors.


She came from a tenement row
Not far from nowhere
On the side of an ungroomed field
she let her robes take flight
as she frolicked like a kitten
with a ball of wool.
I watched her,
The Duchess of the moors


She kissed the wind and it did blush in
the morning sun.
The flowers were reaching
for the sun she brought their way.
And i was reaching
for the sun she brought my way.
I licked my luck and watched
The Duchess of the Moors.


I chased her through a thicket
and ’round the quarry lake.
She sat and bathed her legs.
I sat beside her and bathed our sorrow.
We laughed about having nothing to laugh about.
I just had to shout
that you are, yes you are…
My Duchess of the Moors.


We went into a small cafe
Now somewhat senile
and ordered tea and toasted buns.
The waitress she was senile too
and dropped her loaded tray.
And i just had to say
that you are my Duchess of the Moors.

ESMERALDA DANCES
©Trev Teasdel Coventry February 1971


Esmeralda dances
Like a mist upon a crystal ship.
Floating on a night of eternity
so far above me.
and I kneel at her vision
and take her flowers for her pride
weaving spinning poems
as she tenderly touches my heart with kisses
like mink upon my human skin.


And I tell her that I need her
to bless me with her love,
I take her beads from Ghana
and bring her jewels that sparkle.
Esmerelda, Esmerelda,
Esmerelda dances.


In a gown of cinnamon
against a crimson sky
A cloak of satiny-purple
parasols her thighs.
And she’s concious of her crown
and calls to all her courtiers
who rail to foin my glaik.
Reality rears its its head and paints with a brush
of  grey and black.
and warns me not to put
all my jewels in one sack.

MOMENTS OF MY PAST
John Hadley and Trev Teasdel Birmingham August 1971


Through the moments of my past
Seeing all the things that didn’t last
Thinking of all the lessons I’ve been taught
Thinking of the traps where I’ve been caught
By people playing their games.


Finding so little has been done
with the dreams we had begun
Now I’m standing here wondering why
You went away and passed me by.
Leaving me to wander the lonesome lanes.


Walking down the mystic mile
maybe soon you’ll start to smile
Thinking of the things we did together
Now its time to say goodbye
Try so hard not to cry over you.

HARD STONES
©Trev Teasdel Shilton October 1971


Sit by the coal fire so homely and warm
My cottage is my castle, my safe retreat.
Had a hard day’s hustling and now I’m so tired.


Hands drooped in pockets, the sun slouches off
With flask in hand, the moon climbs the sky
to hold his heavenly office.


Now I know what it’s like to live off the fat of my friends
And I can tell you that there’s hard stones to that road my firend
There’s hard stones to that road my friend.


Out in the wilds, it sometimes gets lonely
The room echos my sighs, but something tells me not to complain
Make use of this time, it may not always be like this.


If you want company, go to the city
You’ll find all your friends there. waiting for you.
The circus from which you escaped may catch up with you.
with tangles and torments that’s trample your mind in the turf.
And there will be harder stones to that road my friend.

MEGALOPOLIS
©Trev Teasdel Birmingham August 1971


The soul is lost in the Megalopolis
The soul is lost in the Megalopolis
The heart is crushed in the Megalopolis
The heart is crushed in the Megalopolis


A simple breath is but a joy to take
When fresh and clean where grass grows green.
I hate your Megalopolis
I hate your Megalopolis


The simple sound of nature’s breeze
is raped with the thunder of of an industrial wheeze
I hate your Megalopolis
I hate your Megalopolis


Subtopian tenders of nature’s blemish
Have drawn up life time plans
To concrete the whole of the land.
Sister nature’s honour has been sacrificed
to the lust of the shepherd of the fiery furnace.
Godamn your Megalopolis
Goddamn your Megaloplis
Your evil Megalopolis.

LET ME ROCK, IN MY ARMS, YOUR WEARY HEAD.
©Trev Teasdel Coventry  August 1976.


When your engine gets tired of pulling all those coaches
And your fire stokers have stoked their weary lot.
And your chimney stacks can release no more smoke.
Like a train, make a line to the resting shed
And let me rock, in my arms, your weary head.


If your life is an endless round of chores
And there is no one to count on to share the tasks
When your clock is over wound and refuses to go
and you don’t have the time to let those silent tears be shed.
I will rock, in my arms, your weary head.


On having smoked your last cigarette
and the off license and pub have long been shut
And you’re stranded alone with nothing to pull you through
and you need someone to share your bed.
I will rock, in my arms, your weary head.


Bridge
A man needs a women who needs a man to do what a man can do.
And I need you to need me to do what love was meant to do.
It’s true..


He may want to touch you in the places
that respond to the gentle touch.
He may want to very much
Don’t let him, let me instead
Rock in my arms your weary head.