Rod Shuttleworth

Rod Shuttleworth

BandFolkAdult Contemporary

Other Info

Cover band: 
No

Lyrics

Sometimes I See Rain

Written By: Rod Shuttleworth

In those restless hours
Between the dreaming and the dawn
I listen to the ticking
Of my feckless heart
I think of things to tell you
When the lights come on
But when you wake I’m tongue-tied
And I don’t know where to start

I’ve never understood the way
Love’s taken and returned
In forty-seven years there’s only
One true thing I’ve learned

Sometimes I see rain and there is no rain
Sometimes I see rain and there is no rain
Sometimes I see rain
And there’s no rain

And if I’ve never found
The hidden road to wealth and fame
Forgive me for the sin
Of always wanting more
And If I’ve played it badly
At least I’ve played the game
That hot and hungry searching
For a life worth settling for

But if I had a mind to
Or I knew how to pray
There’s nothing I would ask for now
Nothing I could say but

Sometimes I see rain and there is no rain
Sometimes I see rain and there is no rain
Sometimes I see rain

But my eyes tell lies
Gazing at these clear blue skies
Saying “my oh my, it’s coming down again”
Then I see rain, and there’s no rain

Oh my brave companion
I can hear it in your voice
Disappointment strumming on
That string of doubt
The only thing I’ll bring you
Is the gift of choice
All I’ll ever ask for
Is a chance to work things out

I need you to love me
With a love that doesn’t know
The chains of obligation
Or a way of letting go, because

Sometimes I see rain and there is no rain
Sometimes I see rain and there is no rain
Sometimes I see rain
And there’s no rain
There’s no rain

© Rod Shuttleworth
Tel: 250.860.6284
E-mail: buzzshut@yahoo.ca

The Safeway Waltz

Written By: Rod Shuttleworth

It’s late on a Friday
The town’s come alive
The lovers are painting it red
There’s fun to be had
But the lonely and sad
Are shopping at Safeway instead

We are the Friday night grocery ghosts
Haunting the big shiny store
Tight fisted, tight lipped
Clutching coupons we’ve clipped
Though we don’t really want
What they’re for

The victims of vices
The shirkers, the sinners
The leavers, the listless, the lost
Comparing the prices
Of microwave dinners
While blinding ourselves to the cost

While the rest of the town
May be drowning in love
There is little for us left to feel
But the shivering heart
Of a bent shopping cart
And the throb of its wobbly wheel

We are the Friday night grocery ghosts
Divided by shared solitude
Reading labels on pies
And averting our eyes
When we meet by Convenience Foods

The slaves to wrong choices
The keepers of demons
The failers, the fallers apart
We still have our voices
So why aren’t we screaming?
There must be some hope in our hearts

Maybe one magical
Late Friday night
This ragged ridiculous host
Lining up to be scanned
Will each offer our hand
To some equal and opposite ghost

Then we’ll waltz to the muzak
Of Burt Bacharach
With the check-out girls watching aghast
And make love on the tiles
Of the extra-wide aisles
Together forever at last

© Rod Shuttleworth
Tel: 250.860.6284
E-mail: buzzshut@yahoo.ca