Lay me down beneath the slate-grey sky
Sworn, avowed, a slave to time and tide
I hold on as the boat moves under me
Beholden to the ebb and flow, drifting helplessly
At the mercy of the weather
As the rain pours down
To the black on the horizon
We all are bound
The sun could shame me into smiling
If she came out
But she remains resolute in hiding
Behind the clouds
Each one of us has had the dream
To clamber onto shore
Just grateful to be home again
To cheat the cruel storm
To hold my own beloved close
Safe by the fireside
To shed all of these sodden clothes
To shelter warm and dry
A parable of drift and dislocation, this song was inspired by a Katherine Mansfield short story. I wrote it on Shernhall Street in Walthamstow, on the way back from dropping my nephew Alex off at his first day at primary school. The five-string banjo on this tune was borrowed from Fred Tomkins, a friend of my mother’s who lives in Mumbles, near Swansea. We were round there for dinner and got talking about a banjo he’d once lent to my dad. I asked if I could have a look, got it out, played it, loved it, and took it home with me. Weeks later, I found some papers inside the case with chords written out in my father’s handwriting. My dad’s been dead for nearly twenty years.
