Some of my best friends are people I've never met. Isn't that what music is for? Isn't that why we read books, watch films and look at pictures? You feel confused and someone paints a picture that kind of explains it. You feel sad and someone writes a poem that makes you feel less alone. You feel love and someone writes a song that says it better than you can even think it. And those people feel like friends. And because they have had time to think about and craft what they say, and because in real life it's not always so easy to talk about some things, they can even be better friends than most of the people you know in person. You feel you know them, even though you've never met. You feel you're like them. You think they'd like you. That's what this song is about. My Friend, Robin. Sometimes I wish Robin Hood was my friend Then right and wrong would be simple again We’d rob the rich and give it to the poor I’d be more healthy from just living outdoors I’d say to him, ‘Robin I find it so very Hard being a man, let alone being merry…’ Sometimes I wish young Prince Hamlet would call And say, ‘Steve, y’know the readiness is all. Your mind’s a prison and the jailer is you Be kind to yourself, and you might just get through.’ I’d say, ‘You’re telling me, your Dad was a king Mine left school at fourteen, it’s a whole different thing…’ I’d like to hang out in the cafés at night Just hoping Vincent Van Gogh will drop by I’d buy him a beer and say, ‘You’re weren’t wrong Being so true to yourself for so long.’ He’d say to me, ‘Steve, but I feel so all alone.’ So we’d swap numbers and I’d call him on the phone. I wish I hung out more with people like Sylvia And Emmeline Pankhurst - people who’d fill ya With hope for the future, and treat you the way You hope that everyone is treated some day. We’d discuss the future of the feminist agenda: Toxic masculinity, non-binary, transgender Then one dark night, when I’ve got really old I’ve had enough of doing all that I’m told I’ll go to the crossroads and wait there in the rain For Robert Johnson to come by again. He’ll say, ‘Hey, Steve, won’t you come on in my kitchen?’ And I won’t say a thing, I’ll just sit there and listen… Comments are closed.
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September 2020
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