The Poet and the Priest

by Gavin O'Loghlen

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about

A 56 minute continuous Symphonic progressive concept album following the lives of two boys; their shared experiences of school, theatre and education; the road divided; music, success, depression, revival and renewal.

Do the things that give you life....

In the best musical traditions of early Genesis, The Moody Blues, Pink Floyd and Peter Gabriel and continuing in the style of Porcupine Tree, Phideaux and IQ.

Album recorded 1989 but never publicly released.
Words and music copyright © Gavin O'Loghlen July 1987
Digitally mixed and re-mastered at Locrian Records by Gavin O'Loghlen - January 2007.

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released February 1, 2007

Gavin O'Loghlen : Piano, Rhodes, Prophet 5, ARP Axxe, Little Brother and Odyssey synths, Minimoog, Mellotron, Roland VP 330 Vocoder, Roland 202 strings, Hammond organ, Crumar organ, acoustic and electric guitars, fretless bass, bass pedals, drums, 707 & 727 drum machines, percussion, flute, vocals.
Vocals “The Descent” Margaret Smith
Vocals “'Lovers” Margaret Smith and Anne Dormer
Vocals “Treadmill Parts I and II” Anne Dormer

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Gavin O'Loghlen & Cotters Bequest Australia

Cotters Bequest is a seven piece progressive Celtic band playing 28 instruments including Highland, Uilleann, Northumbrian and Scottish smallpipes, Irish whistles, violin, cello and accordion wrapped in layers of acoustic and electric guitars, vintage keyboards and rich vocal harmonies.

In the style of "a Celtic King Crimson..a Pink Floyd with bagpipes.. with a sprinkling of Peter Gabriel."
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Track Name: The Poet and the Priest (part 1)
AUTUMN '86 - THE DESCENT

I am the poet and this is my song
would you care to stroll along and share with me
this tale I have to tell?

I'm lost on a journey as long as the night
I've no light ahead and no end in sight
and despair is my guide and he's led me far astray

I am the dance
I am the dance

Pictures, dreams, songs have I heard
scribbled pages and crossed out words;
memorabilia is all I've left behind.

As blank as the page that before me now lies
my mind is the same for my visions have died
I am moribund
I've nothing left to say

It was a dream I once had a song I once heard
a tale that once told dies - disappears.

It was a dream I'd clung to a hope I once knew
a love that then grew grey and decayed

Was a time I'd sing and play till dawn
weekends to practise and perform
the songs inside my head burst forth
my fingers danced in scales and chords
the stories more and more bizarre,
came bubbling up and clawed the air
and slowly as all merged as one
and the greasepaint ran.....


You'd-better beware
of understanding.....
A little knowledge grows and grows
the innocence I used to know turned bitter-sweet
then sour.

In this gloom arcade
doom engulfs you
everyday the endless cycle
everyday the endless dream
of Saturday affairs

Was a dream too good to be believed
so many things to be achieved
by day the teacher chalk in hand
by night the poet's works I planned
two halves so totally entwined
two hearts were broken one was mine
as everything I ever loved
slowly fell apart

Better beware
of all those castles in the air
of all those visions that we shared
(you know and I know that things will be better in time)

You'd better beware...
You'd better beware...
You'd better beware...

RAILWAY NOMADS

In the year of kings in the Spring of '52
trains shunted in a railway siding
near the sea where gulls were gliding I was born.

In this seaside shanty settlement
of fishermen and railway workers
three a.m. one Saturday morning three weeks late
(it seems I'd slept in) I arrived at last.
In this gloomy light “Don't want to be here!”
Never been an early riser
wrinkled red face cried and cried until the sun appeared.

Then we moved along - the railway nomads
six towns by the age of four
an only child with little more than
memories on the move.....

Shadows come between us now
like fog upon some old canal
and everything seems strange somehow
more like a dream.....

Packed our hopes and dreams together
seems we were ever changing stations
- fly by nights.
In one horse sad towns endless beer rounds
set the pace - the fly by nights.
Promotions floundered
tensions mounted
sent the wife and boy back home to town.
With a father in flight
and a mother alone for days and nights.
With frail friendships in hand
blew them all with a kilt and pipe band.
First twelve years of my life
there's not one child that I now call a friend

These visions of my childhood haunt me now.........

Greet the walls Loyolla built
black clad priests with wings
fifth grey school in seven years
in each one -
“He's the new boy”
rings out into the air
it hurts but I don't care
’cos I'm dreaming my life away.

Italian kid one grade below
an Irishman and me
like the setting for a joke
’cept the joke consumed all three.
We made Superman a hit
and Gomer Pyle a star
Buggsy made Italian tons
while I broke windows - AAH !!!!
It was a bum ball anyway
(It wasn't a bum ball - it was a bum shot)
I don't care what you say
’cos I'm dreaming my life away.

Lunchtime handball escapades
Matrics against the wall
Parker's charging cavalcade
the half back line stood tall.
Friday nights for basement chess
dawn breakfasts on Black Hill
Third Eighteen's sole forward line
we lost them all
- but still it was a game that we all played.

There's so much more to say
leave it in your head......
.....’cos I'm dreaming my life away.

The games that we all played
there's so such more to say
leave it in your head.......
....’cos I'm dreaming my life away.

LOVERS

Tear down the old grey walls do away with those ties
I'm throwing out the story books
you can keep those old lies
I don't believe them now (Never did)
“The best days of your lives”!

Down on the corner each Monday we'd stand
bike clips in satchels school caps in hand
“Slattery's will get you nowhere” we bellowed forth in song
the three of us - just ambling along.

Two schoolgirls on pushbikes would daily pass by
we gazed from a distance both painfully shy.
Kelly was in command we'd fled behind the lines
the two of us - one of a kind.

Where are you now?
We're planning manoeuvres
Where are you now?
We're forging our armour
Where are you now?
Verbal bullets from the hip?
Some say they like it, some say they don't
some say the bullshit
is just a joke (just a joke, just a joke)
But you're crying inside.

With safety in numbers we “Wanda”'d these paths
and chocolate Maltesas provided the laughs.
A30 petrol bombs and tarnished pewter mugs
the grand charade - in the real game of love.

Where are you now?
We're planning manoeuvres
Where are you now?
We're forging our armour
Where are you now?
Verbal bullets from the hip?
Some say they like it some say they don't
some say the bullshit
is just a joke (just a joke, just a joke)
But you're crying inside.

JESTERS

When the nightmare passed and P.E.B. was just a ghost
came the call from Valentino in the wings.
With halting steps our fragile egos shuffled forth
to fret and strut their hour upon the stage

This is the age of illusion.....

In a concrete cave
where night and day lay intertwined
and the tragic masks lay scattered on the floor
Jean Paul Marat, Dan Morgan, Spike And Patrick White
gave birth to bathtubs, bunyips, ham and more.

This is the age of illusion......
“It's nineteen forty two and Italy is now at war”
and hordes of “Digitzu” soldiers sweep the land

By candlelight
in multicoloured coats of dreams
the “Owl and Madman” lay the chessboard down
and “Sebastian” plays his war games.

We practised hard
the jesters’ masks were soon complete
with certainty and charm we walked the boards.
But in the night in two a.m. downtown pizza bars
only then did these visards begin to fall

It was indeed the age of illusion.......
It was indeed the age of illusion.......
Track Name: The Poet and the Priest (part 2)
THE OPEN ROAD

Three years passed - it seemed like four
our courses ran out - we then followed
served our year with the Brigidines
learnt more than in the four before them
I went eastwards towards the border
he stayed back in Adelaide.

Ever upwards striving
living like there’s no tomorrow
taught by day and dreamt by night
our world was full of sound and fury
I wrote operas; he filmed mad scripts
Pushed ourselves to three productions every year
I was coming home to the unbelievers
he was silent - quietly bleeding - here, here

Formed two companies of actors
“Big and Little Uns” in it
“Charlotte's Web”, “Bed Sitting room”
“There's a Fire in the Furnace” someone hollered
I did “Hobbits”, “Joseph”, “Four Days”
worked upon the “Warlord's” theme.

Formed a rock group lasted twelve months
then I threw the towel in
couldn't stand the drunken bullshit
isolation ate right through me
weekend town trips, unleashed burdens
God I've got to get away
I can't stand it here
I proposed a flight of freedom off to England
he sat silent, quietly bleeding
- here here.

Late at night the bombshell burst
the grief, the pain, the bottled hurt
only then the answer slowly stirred
seemed like a dream.
The poet’s lot was not for him
the tragic masks, the jesters’ grins
he’d thought it out and chosen this
- the life of the priest.

Side by side
we knew the end had come
we knew our paths had run off
into different woods.

Locked away practising everyday
I became a keyboard slave
I had to find the key to my “Images” of life
they were formed in a mirror’s light
of the things I'd seen inside.
And the doorbells rang - the pressmen flashed
and the tongues of the gossips wagged
and then fame and grief touched.

Side by side my “Adolescence” grew
emotions I never knew
soon all came bursting through.
Side by side “Basil Nuts” had his say
and then despair gave way
to “Nerbellus” in his hole.....

Hey you bird of life
on these dark and lonely nights
I can't see and I can't fly.

THE PIT

All alone in my hole I have dug for myself
so far from the visions I know
In my garden of gloom see my harvest -
I am the seeder, the breeder, the reaper of doom
I all alone.....

Time flies by, grey grows on and for the first time I find
now in fifteen years I sing no song
nothing further to say - no new opera
I am the zero, the infinite, impotent tune.
Ah! Take me away.....

THE TREADMILL PART I

And then the wheels start turning
round and round and round
and then the wheels start turning

I had to keep my mind on the tracks
had to see where a bachelorhood could take me
signed for three years of study and stress
it's nearly done - but now I'm dying by degrees.
Round and round and round.......

“You need sound investments my friend”
said the tax agent counting up my gold
“Property and pears are the way”
so we bought the farm -
now it's the bank that owns my soul.
Round and round and round.......

“You need a challenge and promotion as well”
took my assessment - got four “A”s and a new job
one fifty “K”s each day I drive to and fro
I got what I wanted....now I'm a prisoner of the road.

Round and round and round.......
Assignments.... Gotta get out
Assessments.... Gotta get out
Repayments..... Gotta get out
and still the wheels keep turning

Deep in the night alone and awake
chair bound and tied - in torment I cried
such was the pain I felt inside.
Sick as a pig and doubled by grief
clutching my side in the harsh TV light
as all night pop clips played away.

And the doctor said
“It seems to me to be acute appendicectomy.
We’ll slice you up at nine a.m.
to see what we can find.
It looks like four weeks off for you old son
and after I am through -
You can do what you wish”.
Granted reprieve
saved by the knife - four weeks of leave
four weeks to breathe
it will seem like paradise to me.

THE OPEN ROAD REVISITED

Out on the highway out into the night
white picket cat’s eyes flash past in the lights
Yet I’m driving for a reason - putting down
eight hundred “K”s of tar - I'm slowly dying in the dark.

Outskirts before me, jungle made of men
turn off at Coburg slip into the “Pent”
and I'm waiting ’til the morning
waiting there to see my one soul friend
I’m slowly dying in the dark.

And in the morning as I see him
standing on the grass by the corner
playing with a frisby
shouting out a greeting like he ought to
we slip into the bullshit
making out the old days have caught up
..... NO DON' T!!!!!
it was late at night by the kitchen fire
there were just we three
when the truth emerged from me

THE POET ......

Lover of life - saviour of souls
please hear my cry - don't let me die
there must be more to life than this.

.... AND THE PRIEST

I have no wand to wave about
no magic words to speak
I am no mystic
I am no shooting star.

Yet there seems to me to be
two different kinds of lives we lead
one - all consuming
the other - the building stone.

Each day we slave to make a crust
with sweat and tears and toil
always depleting giving ourselves away
until at last an empty shell
is all that there remains
crying for comfort, trying to lay the blame.

Well you’ve reached that stage my friend
now you must start to build again -

You must do the things that give you life...

THE TREADMILL PART II

And then the wheels start turning
round and round and round
and then the wheels start turning

I find myself soon back on the tracks
peddling paper, watching signposts slip by
countless meetings of waffle and yawn
back where I started
only nothing’s changed at all.

Round and round and round
it seems like nothing’s changed at all
Round and round and round
it seems like nothing’s changed at all

I got to thinking that all talk is cheap
easy to say
when you’re not trapped in a treadmill
time is my enemy - it races away
I just can’t do it all -
I need thirty hours a day

Round and round and round
Do the things that give you life
Round and round and round
Do the things that give you life

I’m too damn tired when I get home from work
then there’s the mortgage
and the bills keep coming in
I find my energy just slipping away
turn on the TV -
and vege out for another day.

Round and round and round
Do the things that give you life
Round and round and round
Do the things that give you life.

I’m like a madman standing searching the sea
can’t see the bottom for the glare on the water
too afraid to go and jump right on in
resolved to hover on the brink
- Yet I know I can swim.

Round and round and round
Do the things that give you life
Round and round and round
Do the things that give you life
Round and round and round
Round and round and round
Round and round

Start playing
you’re delaying
the cure

Do the things that give you life

STOP.......!!!!!!!

........just stop!!

THE KEY

I’ve had enough of this sad old affair
I’m getting out of this gloom
nothing inside of me feels anymore
like a wet rag
I’m washed up and wrung out
and then thrown away
and I’ve much more to do and so much to say.

Sit myself down in this room full of keys
trying to unlock that door
watching my fingers just picking their pathway
through sharps, flats and naturals
it seems that they know what to do
I haven’t a clue
I’ll just follow behind them
and see where they go.

Don’t let the bullshit deceive you
it will always exist
but the door isn’t real
you can do what you wish.

Well I’ve had enough of this sad old affair
I’m getting out of this gloom

Now seems a good time
to stop chasing those sad songs
let them fly away.
Now seems a good time to step out of this
“right and wrong” - didn’t like it anyway.
Just let your melody come through
let it go wherever you want to
time is your own - you can do what you wish

Now seems a good time
to start writing some new songs like I used to know
Now seems a good time
to forget righting all those wrongs
I couldn’t anyway.
In my heart something is stirring
feel all those senses returning
just for this moment I grasp it again.....
.......I step into the light.

LIKE DAEDALUS ASCENDING

Taking chances - throwing all like chaff before you
feel the wind blow
watch the winnowed grains appear.
Stand like windmills
spread your arms to both horizons
feel your wings grow
leave your sorrows far behind.

Fly with me on my magic carpet
fly with me to my tropic isle
see the sunsets of gold and crimson
and feel your rhythm return
in the dance.....
in the dance.....

And I sit here
safe from all my fears and heartaches
soaring higher the world out there
can’t touch me now.
Though I once thought
“You're escaping - turn and face them”
now I know I’m not
I’m filling up this empty whole.

Sail away on my magic carpet
sail away to my tropic isle
there we’ll build up these broken bodies
and some can build up their souls

in the dance
in the dance
in the dance
in the dance
in the dance....

THE NEW DAWN

Wanna hear the Sirens
I wanna hear their tune
I wanna be the man on the moon.
Wanna own a kingdom, wanna own it soon
wanna be the man on the moon.
And I feel like I’m growing much stronger each day
I feel like I’m back on the road
all those old feelings I’ve known.

Wanna break some new ground
I’m out of the gloom
wanna be the man on the moon.
Wanna write some new songs
wanna hear their tunes
wanna be the man on the moon.
And I know that these shadows
that wander my brain
and drag me down into the pit
are no more real than dreams

As I stand here unshackled
my manacles removed
I gaze at those about me
and see they're dying too.

WALKING SHADOWS

Everybody’s searching for directions
everybody’s groping in the dark
I can see them wandering round like lost ghouls
everyday is like St. Andrew’s Eve.
Try to wake them
try to make them hear me
but it's no use
they can't see the light.

And I feel like Geronimo grieving for his lost tribes
their future scenario doesn't seem at all bright.

Everybody’s playing for their kingdoms
building castles up there in the air
never notice days and years slip past them
never notice that they never care
’til it’s too late - “Time's run out for you son
there's no reset button on this game”.

And I feel like Geronimo grieving for his lost tribes
their future scenario doesn’t seem at all bright.

When I say he saved me - I don't mean that...
...what he did was make me save myself
if you go on hating every new day
just remember - that day’s gone for good.
Soon the pathway turns into a graveyard
soon you’re dead for all eternity.

And to think that
that living corpse could have nearly been me
I was half way to no return
a phantom on a ghost train.

And where is he......?
And where is he.......?
Track Name: The Poet and the Priest (part 3)
BIRD OF LIFE

He’s somewhere down the end of town
somewhere down back streets

Working with the down and outs
struggling with self doubts
sail on old sorrows.

We’re all huddled in the freezing morn
we’re all waiting for the new dawn
sail on old sorrows
sail on ’til tomorrow

And fly - you bird of life
on these dark and lonely nights
for the priest is by my side.

And this is the dance......

SPRING '87 - THE DANCE

Yeah I’m back and I’m strong.....

The poet and the priest
are gonna get you
they’re gonna take your soul apart
they’re gonna climb into your heart.

Vascillators and earth violators, procrastinators
had all better watch out
’cos your time is coming fast.

Fascists, Marxists and bullshit artists
and all of those people who claim
they’re our masters
had better watch out
’cos your time’s not gonna last.

’Cos the poet and the priest are gonna get you
gonna take your soul apart
gonna climb into your heart.

The poet and the priest are gonna get you.....
The poet and the priest are gonna get you.....
The poet and the priest are gonna get you.....

Right in the heart