This is the fourth in a short series of posts I’m writing about the songs on my new album, ‘The Great Divide‘. Here’s the first (about ‘Arab Spring’), the second (about ‘Post’) and the third (about ‘Listen’).
This week I’m writing about ‘Dead Ringer’:
“Staring through Europa’s windows /
wishing I could sneak in and hide…”
The coolest shop in Stirling is Europa Music. Once you’ve entered the main shop, you can sneak through the back door into a room containing hundreds, if not thousands, of second hand vinyl records. They’re just everywhere – on multiple shelves along the walls, on the tables, in piles on the floor – it’s an amazing place.
Other than being about wanting to visit a record shop, this song (the sixth on my new album) is about steel toe-capped Dr Martens, being a square peg in a round hole, faking it to fit in, and learning how to love our scars.
“Art is human; error is human; ergo, art is error. Inevitably, your work will be flawed. Why? Because you’re a human being, and only human beings, warts and all, make art. Without warts it is not clear what you would be, but clearly you wouldn’t be one of us.“
– David Bayles & Ted Orland, ‘Art & Fear’
You can buy it in these places:
Bandcamp
iTunes
Amazon
Here are the lyrics. Enjoy 🙂
Dead Ringer
Booted up in black steel toe caps
Holding little fragile hands
Prolonged and sentimental goodbyes
When he shouts he hopes she understands
The stitches slowly coming apart
Inside his heart
And he could count the years on fifty fingers
That he’s worn your smile and been a dead ringer
For a member of a club that is a mystery to me
Staring through Europa’s windows
Wishing he could sneak in and hide
From the prolonged and sentimental love songs
That make him contemplate suicide
And you wonder why his lips never part
Well, here’s a head start
Yeah he could count the years on fifty fingers
That he’s worn your smile and been a dead ringer
For a member of this club that is mystery to me
Baptised in black when he had zero comprehension
Of a life outside this monochrome dimension
That felt safe and warm but was a strange introduction to this world
And can you see he’s barely holding it together
That he’s tried to fake it but it doesn’t make it better
And the voices in his head they say they won’t be fooled again
But the best part of a Sunday is her smile
When he sees her face returning down the aisle
And they sing the songs together as he holds her in his arms
Yeah he could count the years on fifty fingers
That he’s worn your smile and been a dead ringer
For a member of this club that is a mystery to me
Baptised in black when he had zero comprehension
Of a life outside this monochrome dimension
That felt safe and warm but was a strange introduction to this world
And the darkness in his soul is like a poison
That consumes the light that people say can save him
But his scars are like a beacon in the freezing desert night
