Lyrics & Music: Stephen Burch | play

The Great Park photo by Tobias Kappel 7

I see searchlights, see dogs on chains
Heads full of trouble looking for someone to blame
They say where you gonna run to, where you gonna hide this time
Where you gonna run to, where you gonna hide this time

Well I know a safe house and it’s not too far
And there we can lay low ‘til this blows past
Four stone walls to wait within, one thick door to crouch behind
And it’s there we can run to, and it’s there we can hide this time

When I was young beneath the table or up deep in the loft
My brother turned me out, said ‘you’ve grown too soft
You need working on boy before I call thee mine’
And I don’t care where you run to, I don’t care where you hide this time

So I head for the black hills, my back feels full of shot
An angry mess below my neck all kindness forgot
Knotted muscles, stutter, fuck it, stretched, strained sinew, whines
Where are you gonna run to, where you gonna hide this time

But half a mile from the paddock I see a horse up in a tree
A flayed set of legs, a thing I cannot believe
But a crow upon a matted mane and a crow upon a pony’s eye
They both say where you gonna run to, and where you gonna hide this time

And the cattle here are starving, and they will not feed a child
They huddle in the red barn and are frightened of the light
You’ll do good to keep your head down son, they grumble as I stumble by
And think about where you gonna run to, think about where you gonna hide this time

And my stitches, they are mending, but they’re not mending fast
They buckle in the grey skin, they bite and leave a mark
And they whisper to one another all along their crooked line
They say where’s he gonna run to, where’s he gonna hide this time

Well I got me some answers but I couldn’t be more wrong
And every field I look into is burnt and scrubbed corn
And every gate is broken, every fence just sticks and twine
And I don’t know where I’ll run to, I dont know where I’ll hide this time

Well I am running from Sebastian, I am running from his wife
I am running from the blacksmith who says he saved my life
I am running from the winter, the freight train, the lover, and the liar

And I am running from the fireman, the coal man and the colt
Mrs O, the vicar standing on tiptoes
Singing her frail lungs away ‘hallelujah glory be on high’

And I am running from superstition, from mischief and the law
And her heart that couldn’t beat true, and the knocking at the door
I am running for the running, the doing, the going and the flight

I am running from the cold cave, the blackwater park
I am running from whatever creeped in when we left the door ajar
I am running from tiny sparrows, paper birds and dogs that bite

I am running from the palace pier, the King’s square and the ford
Wilbury and the chapel house and the ghost of Elin Lord
The broken bottle, the empty chair the wide crow black sky

I am running from the sudden storm, the cold father gone
The Englishman down in my blood and the shame, and the scorn
I am running from the good book, the one sure straight line
That tells me where I can run to, where I can hide this time
It tells me where I’m gonna run to and where I’m gonna hide this time

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