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RED RUDDLE
RIGHT WHERE IT HURTS
ROLL OVER CHUCK BERRY
RUNNING COMMENTARY

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RED RUDDLE Song lyric 175

The spring rises in the forest as locals say,
Running through a culvert, crossing under the road.
It flows along to the man-made lake ahead.
Then, as it broadens to three paces wide, iron turns the water red.
Red as rust except for a nearby puddle,
This brook is known locally as the Red Ruddle.

One warm day in summer, I happened to espy
Old Jim Daly asleep on the bank.
In his hand was a quart cider flagon,
Drunk again, he missed a ride on the hay-wagon.
Far from Dublin and life in a muddle,
He survived another day, by the Red Ruddle.

Bridges three cross the stream as it rounds the hill ridge.
The first is Jack’s bridge on the Wokingham Road.
It crosses back at Queen’s bridge and the next is King’s bridge,
Where rusty red it was to Queensmere, the lake into which it flowed.
The Royal visits by Queen Victoria befuddle
The properties of the Red Ruddle.
Copyright 2001 Arthur J.P. Strand
Song lyric 175

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RIGHT WHERE IT HURTS. SONG LYRIC 040

Living in a world of your own,
Dreaming, fearful of the unknown,
Your thoughts seem to be so far away
And you belong to yesterday.

Even if you are thought to be eccentric,
Wishing you were powered by electric,
You’d switch off whenever we’re apart.
Hit me right where it hurts. My Heart.

Hoping that a promise has been kept,
Wishing deeply, that I had not wept.
My gifts were accepted every time.
The tangles in my heart can’t unwind.
Copyright 1965 Arthur J.P. Strand.
Song lyric 040

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ROLL OVER, CHUCK BERRY Song lyric 154

Roll over Chuck berry,
Your fame makes us so keen.
Roll over Chuck Berry.
Your fame makes us so keen.
Roll over Chuck Berry,
Beethoven’s back on the scene.

Roll over Chuck Berry,
You taught Johnny B. Goode
Roll over Chuck Berry,
You taught Johnny B Goode.
Roll over Chuck Berry,
Nadine’s in the neighbourhood.

Roll over Chuck Berry
And sweet little sixteen,
Roll over Chuck Berry
And sweet little sixteen
Roll over Chuck Berry,
Check out Maybelline

Roll over Chuck Berry,
Fly to Memphis Tennessee.
Roll over Chuck Berry,
Fly to Memphis Tennessee.
Roll over Chuck Berry,
Beethoven’s in St. Louis.

Copyright 1992 Arthur J. P. Strand
Song lyric 154.

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RUNNING COMMENTARY Song lyric 167

Interlopers may usurp current incumbents.
Not as self-appointed substitutes at sports events,
More like partisan spectators observing from the sidelines,
Broadcasting rumours, trivia and gossip by design.

It’s a running commentary on everybody’s affairs.
Yes, a running commentary when nobody ever cares.

Developers leave architectural legacies’
Some are well-intended suburban delicacies,
Yet others flourish like monstrous blots on the landscape.
Faceless are the residents who can neither flee nor escape.

Mandibular activists control parochial propaganda,
Managing to avoid cases of libel and slander.

Orators deliver speeches with practised eloquence.
Less sanctimonious are the ranters who lack such elegance
They create vitriolic atmospheres with consummate ease,
Persecuting those who lve under the sword of Damocles.
Copyright 2004 Arthur J.P. Strand
Song lyric 167

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