Let me introduce to you Every woman child and man The place I did my growing up Raised by grandma's hand I think you'll find That folks are kind They're sure to ask you in Enter the warmth Close the door And my story will begin…

This provides a theory which ties together two of my key traits a) always tired b) terminally disappointed by peoples lack of courtesy - there's a link people! Did you ever feel so down That you didnt know up Didnt recognise highs And smiles…

I'm meeting an old Uni friend Saturday and I wrote this for her. My university years were quite possibly the darkest years of my life. Her, and the little comments she'd write in the margins of my lecture notes, were more important than she'll…

A dramatisation of events from school.. hope 'Shaun' never hears this, and if he does, that he likes it in someway, and that things turned out alright in the end.. It was always rainin. It filled him up It summed it up So perfectly How nothing…

This is about making friends with yourself.. then taking yourself back to yours

Tell me can you teach me bout your finely written poetry Dont care about the content I just want to make em notice me Such a fine hand they'd say wooo, study it closely Been practicing all day I think I'm ready least I aughta be. Caligraphy…

A folksy number inspired by the stories my nan told me many moons ago about her uncle Herbie.. Herein lies the story, of a man named Herbie Jones. Not a million miles away from a man you might have known. A miner in the twenties, blue scars…

It aint like no ones done this before But how can you tire of beautiful chords In the fifties In Tenessee Where my love was born Two young men upped and crossed the yard both cold cos it was rainin hard. One of them turned said…

It aint like no ones done this before But how can you tire of beautiful chords In the fifties In Tenessee Where my love was born Two young men upped and crossed the yard both cold cos it was rainin hard. One of them turned said…

It aint like no ones done this before But how can you tire of beautiful chords In the fifties In Tenessee Where my love was born Two young men upped and crossed the yard both cold cos it was rainin hard. One of them turned said…