I have been quiet on my blog lately. Partly because life is happening all around me and I can barely keep up, so there’s no time for reflection, or if there is it’s fleeting and I can’t pin it down and put it into words.
But I have been listening to a lot of music. And I have been getting angry about things, which I combat by escaping into music or, if I’m really lucky, into sleep.
It’s Black Friday today, so here’s a brilliant song to mark this sorry occasion.
Director: Oscar J Ryan Production Company: Head & Wrecker EP: Ash Teague Producer: Ellis Fox DOP: Emma Langguth AD: Dave Neale Editor: Beth Roberts Colourist: Jules Willeman Online: James Bradley 1st AC: Davide Scalenghe 2nd AC: Matthew Hollis Camera Trainee: Ben Keeling Sound Op: Charlie Hinde Gaffer: Kian Altmann Spark: Will Jensen Art Director: Annie Harmenston Runner: Freddie Reeve BTS: Daniel Bailey Graphics: Studio 108 Cast: Sean Ryan, Pete Howard, Jack Horwood
Music in this video
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Song
Artist
Album
Enough is Never Enough
Licensed to YouTube by
The Orchard Music (on behalf of Creation 23), and 3 Music Rights Societies
Lyrics:
Lyrics:
It was a Tuesday And it was… bleak
Torn from the wreckage of a broken home
Only knows the love that he was shown
He barges into the Café he owns
To bark marching orders
At poor Kitchen Porters.
Fresh from the microwave,
A sandwich, thrown on a chipped plate
The kitchen is in a state,
There’s no need for pruning
When business is blooming
And his grandmother was a proud Filipino
Slips his mind as he
Dips his vote Into the world of a well known racist
Who explains it all in words he knows
These fingers were made for pointing
And enough is never enough
The busker boy’s chasing the dream
By the beggar with the card machine
And passing by the suit and tie wont cast an eye
Too fixated on a screen
And blessed are the meek I’ve heard them say but honestly
There’s no romance in poverty
When dinner is a novelty
And these fingers were made for pointing
And enough is never enough
Trudging Galway streets alone I can’t help thinking, not to blame, Romantic Ireland’s dead and gone
It’s with O’ Leary on the plane
And everybody loves to bitch
Factions speak louder than herds
When rags to riches
Turns wags to witches
Fine feathers don’t make fine birds
These fingers were made for pointing.
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