Song #19 The Last Wave

 

THE LAST WAVE

 

Give me some green fields

Some green fields of home

Green fields of anywhere

The seven hills of Rome

The city that took me stronger than storm

Where I refound my saviour

But I was love lost and worn

 

We’re comin’ in on the last wave

We’re comin’ in on the last wave

 

Besuited and clean cut

They stand at my door

Charmed by a light

As bright as the dawn

With charming ideas naïve in extreme

Fairies in the garden

Are not what they seem

 

They’re comin’ in on the last wave

We’re comin’ in on the last wave

 

Mother Earth quakes at the sound of our roar

But battles on bravely

If you open the door

So just let her in as Rome continues to burn

With the oil of Mohammed’s men

It’s once again their turn

 

They’re comin’ in on the last wave

Are we comin’ in on the last wave?

We’re comin’ in on the last wave

 

There’s a man with his finger

On the nuclear button

We’ve lost it, we’ve sold out

We’re a race of gluttons

 

They’re comin’ in on the last wave

Are we comin’ in on the last wave?

We’re comin’ in on the last wave

 

Copyright Michael Coghlan 1980

Commentary

My end of the world moment. (It was the eighties!) Sprinkled with references to religion (Rome, Mormons, Mohammed) and a long tale that needs to be told one day in another format.

I used to really enjoy playing this song in a duo with Jeff Witt. I think we actually called ourselves The Last Wave for a while. Quite anthemic but its time has passed.

 

Song #18 Foreign Coastlines

FOREIGN COASTLINES

(average recording with slides)

 

You stand there insulting the people who love you

You don’t understand that they like to be near you

So why do you keep on destroying the scenery

With pointless descriptions of times far away – far away from here?

If you’re still living there

Then why are you standing here

On this cliff of the poet

Why don’t you just blow it away: this dream of yours?

 

So you’re caught in the storm of a foreign coastline

Do you have to keep telling me that you’ve seen other places?

Do you have to keep telling me that those other people were fine?

Just who are you talking to? I don’t think it’s me

Just who are you talking to? I don’t think it’s me or mine

 

No thank you mister I don’t like gems

I’m sick and tired of your goddamn gems

Why do you talk to me when I want to be alone on the hill?

 

I go on insulting the people who love me

I don’t understand that they want to be near me

So why do I keep on destroying the scenery

With tear-jerking memories of times far away  - far away from here?

She’s there; not fair.

Copyright Michael Coghlan 1980

Commentary

Written on the Isle of Wight, and inspired by a fellow Australian who walked with me along the coast talking incessantly about all the other great places he'd visited! Also includes some interesting messages to self, and still missing my long lost love The poet referred to is Tennyson who lived in the region for 40 years. Originally written and sung in a very high vocal register which is beyond me now so have recently rearranged it in a lower key. The song has stood the test of time pretty well.