DESERT DUST
(no original recording
written as lyric only 1999)

Five years ago we slid across this bridge at dawn
after a long hot drive from Barcelona.
I kept waking up on the back seat to see factories
flaring orange against the black hills.

All I could taste was desert dust, desert dust.

I woke with that dust in my teeth, sweating
whilst you lay there perfectly cool and collected.
We carry our countries in our blood like a disease
that carries us back to the same place in our dreams.

Every winter we've swung back across the bridge
circling your past in the sparkle of christmas streets.
Words have crept into my mouth as I struggle on
tongue snagged against the bridge whilst you sail on words.

I stare at the back of another car doused with torrents of rain
as tail-lights burn in the wet roads and palm trees sway
I stare at the roads as summer's dust clogs the drains.
The dust, desert dust that will cover my grave

( This first version of song based on original poem below)

 

 

4. BRIDGE OF STONE - Puente de Piedra por Ana
( from Spanish Chronicles)

Five years ago we slid across this bridge at dawn
after a long hot drive from Barcelona.
I kept waking up on the back seat to see factories
flaring orange against the black hills.
As we entered Zaragoza I saw the basilica lit up
by floodlights that caught the dust swirling in from the desert.

I woke with that dust in my teeth, sweating
whilst you lay there perfectly cool and calm.
We carry our countries in our blood, habits, instincts
that carry us back to the same places in our dreams.
Now I catch you sleeping again; winter, the Ebro rising,
I'm not sweating but still the air here tastes different.

Every winter for five years we have swung back across the bridge
circling your past through the sparkle of christmas lights.
Words have crept into my vocabulary as I struggle with Spanish
but I still get caught like an uprooted tree on the double r's.
tongue snagged against the bridge supports whilst you sail away
floating on the native rhythm of your language as I submerge.

I stare at the back of another car doused with torrents of rain
as tail-lights burn in the wet roads and palm trees twirl.
I stare at the roads as they flood easily ,
a summer's dust and dirt clogging the drains.
When we met I was washed away on a torrent of affection.
Now we stand on the bridge five years on
the wind catching dust , staring into a flood that moves beneath us.