Directory of Lost Causes (By Quentin S. Crisp)

Work in Progress

Here's a little glimpse of the songwriting process at work within the Dorothy fold.

Recently - I think it was on Friday - I completed a new lyric and sent it to Pete Black via e-mail. I got a brief e-mail back saying he liked the lyrics a lot. Since I know that Pete doesn't give out praise willy nilly, I had the feeling that this lyric might soon be put to music. Sure enough today - Sunday - I received another e-mail from Pete which simply contained the URL for a file containing a song idea that he is working on with the lyric in question. The link is here.



I gave it a listen. I liked it. I asked if I could share the demo with readers of my blog. The answer was yes, although I was told that the end product might bear little resemblance to this doodle. Well, I am certainly looking forward to it. So far six original Dorothy songs have been recorded, and all of them are very fine. I can't wait for the album.

Below are the lyrics:

Home

This is the same song
I will be singing
On the day of the happy disaster
When everything stops
'Cause we can't go any faster.

This is the same song
I will be singing
When the world market collapses
And suddenly we fall
Back to the beginning.

Drink with me
Laugh with me
Talk with me.
And wouldn't it be
A wonderful surprise
If there in the shell of the library
You see what's always been
Right in front of your eyes
And quietly you turn to me,
Your fingers curling on my knee,
And say, "Let's go home."

This is the same song
I will be singing
When we sit round a bonfire at last
Burning page after page
Of Proust's Remembrance of Times Past.

Drink with me
Laugh with me
Talk with me.
And wouldn't it be
A wonderful surprise
If there amidst the fallen bodies
That are history's only end
You decide that you actually
Want to know me,
And there's nothing left
Except to be friends.

These are my hands,
The lines smudged with ash
A book by anonymous
My favourite hack.
This is my education,
And scrawled here all that I know,
This is my station in life and my home
I care about you loads.

By the way, I stole the wonderful image about Proust's Remembrance of Times Past from a story by a friend of mine, the very brilliant Mark Samuels.