#7. "Home for a Rest"

Well, this is a bit different, to say the least.  But who knows where the creative process will lead?  Think of my mind as a dark room full of half-formed ideas, all bouncing around off the walls and each other.  (Sounds rather like the Kinetic Theory of Matter, doesn't it?  And so it is.)

Anyway, every now and then, one of these ideas falls out a window (The windows of my mind.  Of course.)

This is what fell out a few days ago.

I'm sure most of you are familiar with this song by Spirit of the West.  If you are not, it's an Irish-style drinking song by a Canadian band about their experiences in England.  Got that?

  

Home for a Rest - Spirit of the West, 1990

I strongly suggest you check out "Home for a Rest" before you go any further.  Then you can hum along.  If you wish to accompany yourself on the guitar, the chords are Am, G, uh, C (I think), and maybe D.  Oh, and there's an F, too.  I can't do F.

Home for a Rest

With compliments and apologies to Spirit of the West.  

Facts may have been adjusted to fit the original.
(Oh, and that's my version on the left.)

You'll have to excuse me, I'm not at my best I've had chemo all month, and my system's a mess This damned radiation has drained all my zest I'm so sick of it all, I need home for a rest.

You'll have to excuse me, I'm not at my best         I've been gone for a month, I've been drunk since I left         These so-called vacations will soon be my death         I'm so sick from the drink, I need home for a rest.

It began in December, Toronto was cold As we camped out at Julie's near Avenue Road It was MRI's, CAT scans and one ultrasound Where they shoved a big probe up my hospital gown. You'll have to excuse me, I'm not at my best Radiation and chemo, and all of the rest. Each day on the subway, and down to Princess Margaret Hospital.  God, how I long for a rest.

We arrived in December and London was cold     We stayed in the bars along Charing Cross Road     We never saw nothin' but brass taps and oak     Kept a shine on the bar with the sleeves of our coats.

College Street Station, the subway train North As we swayed with the crowds, as we lurched back and forth    We read all the ads or just stared into space And we tried not to look anyone in the face. You'll have to excuse me, I'm not at my best Every day is the same, every day is a test Radiation and chemo have brought me distress And my lower G.I. is one hell of a mess.

Euston Station the train journey North         In the buffet car we lurched back and forth         Past old crooked dykes through Yorkshire's green field         We were flung into dance as the train jigged and         reeled.

Now the hospital's empty, it's quiet inside But the crowds in the subway, they surge like the tide I'm knackered again, so I'll stare at the floor And won't lift up my head 'til the train gets to Bloor. You'll have to excuse me, I'm not at my best I've been gone for a month, I've been gone since I left And I know in my heart that it's all for the best But I'm sick of it all.  I need home for a rest.

The gas heater's empty, it's damp as a tomb     The spirits we drank now ghosts in the room     I'm knackered again, come on sleep take me soon     And don't lift up my head 'til the the twelve bells at     noon.