SEPTEMBER 9TH, 2005. "WARCHILD" | ARCHIVE

Hi

Just got in from recording in Glasgow. We were doing a track for a charity called Warchild (warchild.org). The idea is that about 15 groups were all doing a track the same day. They're putting the 'album' out tomorrow, in about 7 hours time. It's going online.

So we wrote a new song called The Eighth Station Of The Cross Kebab House. I wanted to print the words out for you in case you download it and wonder what the hell we're on about.

It's meant to be a little snapshot of pluralist utopia, a kind of "Across The Barricades" type thing. It's a pretty true reflection of some of our impressions of our trip to Israel/Palestine earlier this year. I spent a happy lunch hour in said kebab house at the eighth station of the cross in Jerusalem.

Hey, I'm back in Glasgow. Have you noticed? You don't care... Sorry I've not updated. Getting home from long trips always remind you that you are an adult and you have responsibilities. You can't live in La La Land forever. I've been dealing with exclusively band dealings since I got home. That's the good fun part! I've been ignoring the bad part. The pile of bills in the corner of the kitchen is wobbling. Wonder when they'll turn the power off..

So here's the words. I'm going to bed..goodnight. Lod is pronouncd 'lid' by the way. It's a town in Israel, mostly occupied by Palestinians as it happens.


The Eighth Station Of The Cross Kebab House

I’m sitting around at the checkpoint
Keeping myself to myself
My heart’s going out to the girl with the gun
She is young, she is fun, she is deadly

She clock’s off, goes back to the city
Goes to a club with her friends

I just took a walk through the checkpoint
Past columns of poor Arab sons
They queue through the day for a chance to make pay
For something to put in their mouths

He can’t sleep at night without gunfire
The lullaby puts him to sleep

We stand there accused of the British collusion
Israel into Palestine
A victory for some an astonishing hope
But for him it has brought devastation

He lives like a prisoner in exile
He lives like a prisoner in hell

Doves black and white in the blue vault of space
Swoop around like a symbol of peace
Can they see the hawk?
They’re too busy in talk of love
Why should they contemplate fear?

Everyone meets in the cramped city streets
Hipsters of zion collide
To talk music and dross
At the sign of The Cross
We eat our falafel in peace
The girl let’s her uniform slip
The boy cracks a joke he is sweet
He’s listens to Hip Hop in Gaza
She listens to Coldplay in Lod

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