PHIL LYNOTT WAS A POET

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The wide, the woven, the smell of fear

Easier to hide than make a stand

Form a band, cover yourself in glory 

Write your own story, nights of fury

..

Intelligence is weary, culture vulture

Under the lights of night your face black

Your heritage an echo, a Gaelic refrain

Up on the stage of fame, spike the stain

..

Carry me home, wander free, a family

Stand out under the stars naked, your

electric harp, with the boys of harmony

Bringing it home, not when your alone

..

Pass the skit, the rush, the hit, atonement

Write it down in your mothers scrapbook

Looking for the mass ascension, Johnny boy

Collecting friends along the way, adjacent

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Musha ring dum a do, whack for my daddy-o

The jar is left, shake the tree, where did daddy go?

Fender Jazz, Precision, give it to sad clowns of derision

Learned to star, scar the stage, no boot stud indecision

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Fame train carries a barb, a wye switch derailer

Home mommy’s kid, not greedie tin’ bitch syringe

Leather clad, punk sad, ride the ferris wheel ..

Get off the track, gentle guitar man, Lynott you are a poet

..

edenbraytoday

30.11.2020