Peter child of the 60's. Son of a mariner, boarding school pupil, bank clerk, matelot, carpenter, dingy sailor, surfer and musician.
Oh the cold air of the Kishorn burial ground,
and the ghost's there everywhere you turn,
the cold and the damp seems to follow you down,
to the brackish waters of the Russell Burn.
...
It feels so right, I can't believe my luck,
I go carefully, with a full cup,
you're my heroine, you make me stronger,
just when I feel, I can't go on any longer,
...
I'm not saying that it's easy for you,
I know you've been let down before,
you aren't sure you wanna start something new,
you're tired and don't wanna hurt anymore.
...
Today I have some difficulties, some scars still remain,
full of self doubt, through injury to the brain,
a brush with mortality, it's got to change a person,
it changes your view, and previous assertions,
...
The media bombards, the shelter of our homes,
the crisis deepens, the worst we've ever known,
the bankers screw us over, they really have no shame,
they've done it once, now they're doing it again.
...