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lyrics

Deadtown [by Rich Whitworth and Blue-John]

Deadtown, you won’t drag my brother down.
Blank spaces; bleached-white faces.
He will never make his home here.
You almost bled him dry here.

Deadtown, a knife-like frost cuts him to the bone,
and you try to swing him round,
but he’s a cat on his ninth life.
You won’t make him take his own life.

Survival tips born of restless sleeping:
hide in long grasses; keep perfectly still;
thwart Lucifer himself by force of will.

Deadtown, that girl’s got him spellbound;
she’s a spark of inspiration.
They’re walking back to her place;
he’s sunken-eyed and punch-drunk.

Deadtown, he’s dressed up to the nines,
and he’s talking up a storm,
when her gentle, doorstep goodbye
makes him switch to flying monk mode,
makes him switch to flying monk mode.

Afternoon tea by the sea: across the
Moors, then down Blue Bank, to Whitby. But I
think it only fair to make you aware
that, along with Beckett’s sticky cakes,
and Gutsy Ginger’s incense,
mythical creatures are to be found there,
steeped in song.

Deadtown, he no longer feels the chill.
He slips free of sea-stone shackles,
wraps his coat around a vagabond,
and whispers kindly to the vixen.

Deadtown, graffiti hackers razed you to the ground;
you bored them half to death.
Marauding gulls and feral children came;
they live inside your scorched remains,
they live inside your scorched remains.

Hide in long grasses; keep perfectly still;
thwart Lucifer himself by force of will.

credits

from Mythical Creatures, released May 1, 2017

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Blue-John Benjamin Whitby, UK

"We put the boot in - flew the freak-flag;
We stood resolute like Morrissey’s quiff."

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