Lyrics by Polly Blue

When the moon is hidden and the town’s asleep
She heads out to the woods till it’s tangled and deep
Lending her ear to the voice that’s never fake
Her limbs turn to lichen, her mind is a lake
There’s no use in looking for her hiding place
She leaves no trace

In an old world city she has you hunting for clues
By a secret door you spot her white tennis shoes
Down a ceiling beam dangle her ropes
To strangle your blues and stir up your hopes
Her whip makes no mark that her lips won’t erase
She leaves no trace

Her father was a hunter, she was his only son
King of courtyard scuffles, handy with the gun
When her favourite hound got terminally ill
Dad said: keep your eyes open and your heart still
There is no pain that death won’t outpace
She leaves no trace

If you be her flower, she’ll guard you inside
Through petrified fields as the seasons collide
She will frown and see through you and pull you close
But you’d better not ask where she comes and she goes
Her heart is a hawk that doesn’t give chase
She leaves no trace

You might have met her on her morning walk
Single mother by choice, dislikes small talk
She teaches your kids, lives in the flat next door
Buys bell-bottom jeans at the local store
Sometimes the absolute wears a plain face
She leaves no trace

The country I live in has streets for walls
Parasite prophets who preach in shopping malls
Wounds like rainbows, mouths like mines
Crystal skies crisscrossed by stolen power lines
A desert for soul, tears like tires
Mountains burning in eternal wildfires
Holy beggars who stab you with a smile
Sister, I’m bleeding with this blues of exile

I have these shards of exile in my hands
I was only trying to climb an old fence
Whenever I pray, whenever I try to serve
They send jolts of despair through my every nerve


My country of birth is choked by church bells
It’s learned to relish death in a thousand hells
Whether by slow indigestion of delicate foods
Or the relentless flashing of underage boobs
It’s got white rage seething under each monument
And instant absolution for all who repent
A millennium of torture folded in each secret file
Can you hear my bones cracking with this blues of exile?

I have these shards of exile in my hands
I swear I was acting in self-defence
Whenever I pray, whenever I try to serve
They send jolts of despair through my every nerve


I made four true friends in sunny Mozambique
An angel who danced all he couldn’t speak
A peasant drunk on metaphors, a femboy wed to weed
A trader who squandered both the fruit and the seed
All of them trying in their way to be free
Three are dead, one’s a refugee
Some birds get to fly, others fall down in style
I plummet to a crash with this blues of exile

I have these shards of exile in my hands
I feel like I’m sinking in shifting sands
Whenever I pray, whenever I try to serve
They send jolts of despair through my every nerve


My ancestors got chased from their chosen land
First to build empire then to make the world expand
In their secret books they found the meaning to it all
Scattered to gather the sparks of God’s fall
The meaning was consumed in a puff of chimney fire
Now they’re making pretty profits on war and barbed wire
Watering with bombs a land they call fertile
See my sparks slip away in this blues of exile

I have these shards of exile in my hands
I guess it it my form of penitence
Whenever I pray, whenever I try to serve
They send jolts of despair through my every nerve


I once knew a woman who would love me whole
I took her in her sleep and devoured her soul
She said: thank you for lifting that burden away
And died of a fever on my wedding day
Teaching me that love’s about evening the score
There have been others and there will be more
I warn them that my heart is fickle and vile
Still they ask me out to dance this blues of exile

I have these shards of exile in my hands
It must be by some overlord’s commands
Whenever I pray, whenever I try to serve
They send jolts of despair through my every nerve


There is nowhere to flee, nowhere to belong
Except for the offbeat of an old slave song
The quilombo’s on fire, under a bloody moon
Hound dogs score the jungle to sniff out the maroon
Whether in Pharaoh’s brick factory or in the plantation
You build yourself a prison and call it a nation
Soon there’s going to be nothing left to defile
Can you hear my chains rattle in this blues of exile?

I have these shards of exile in my hands
Is there someone out there who understands?
Whenever I pray, whenever I try to serve
They send jolts of despair through my every nerve

The wheels will screech
the plane will land
Behind those sliding doors
we’ll find each other’s hand

Fingers threading hair
static on the skin
Will the mingling of breath
match the fire within?

Our eyes will have to close
our lips will come to part
Will our tongues stay plugged
into the currents of the heart?

We rush to our reunion
like sweethearts in their prime
Will our fears betray us?
Will our bodies chime?
Headlong into our hubris
to disentangle time


You will steer the wheel
As I hang on to your neck
Will you drive us home
or straight into a wreck?

As the key will turn
the old clothes will have to fall
Our little bet with romance
winner strips it all

The years gifted us wrinkles
and folds of sagging flesh
Will nostalgia blind us
or will we start afresh?

We rush to our reunion
like burglars to a crime
Will our fears betray us?
Will our bodies chime?
Headlong into our hubris
to disentangle time


I will be the woman
and you will be the man
And then we’ll swap positions
over and again

In the sweaty frenzy
you’ll poke my ancient sore
Will I beg for mercy?
Will I ask for more?

Stark on the horizon
a volcano capped with snow
And further, past the ocean
I can’t see, I don’t know

We rush to our reunion
like poets to a rhyme
Will our fears betray us?
Will our bodies chime?
Headlong into our hubris
to disentangle time

My eyes are wounded, my flesh is broken
By the grace of your touch, my heart has awoken
I’m ready, my lady, I heed your decree
When the veil of night falls, I’ll be bending my knee

I wear on my skin each and every ache
Bow as I may, I never break
Be my hurricane, I’ll be your willow tree
When the veil of night falls, I’ll be bending my knee

Be my valley spirit, my inexhaustible fountain
This weary monk has come down his mountain
Be my shining Isis, my dark Kali
When the veil of night falls, I’ll be bending my knee

Don’t be held back by my petty fears
This body hasn’t been touched in a hundred years
I know all too well what you want to see
When the veil of night falls, I’ll be bending my knee

There’s no need to be tender, no soul to save
Is the master the master, or is it the slave?
Rearrange my colours like a Paul Klee
When the veil of night falls, I’ll be bending my knee

Rip open my scars, spare me no blow
Break me, take me, mould me, make me overflow
Remember that gate? Did you lose the key?
When the veil of night falls, I’ll be bending my knee

I know I’m not allowed to speak my desire
But I warned you already, I conceal a vampire
If the thirst of blood gets me, I go on a spree
When the veil of night falls, I’ll be bending my knee

Make me your plaything, make me your bitch
Beware, in the thick of things I may suddenly switch
You may find yourself begging to be set free
When the veil of night falls, I’ll be bending my knee

I don’t know where you are, but I can safely bet
That halfway through this song the rain got you half wet
Soon that field will be as soggy as can be
When the veil of night falls, I’ll be bending my knee

Do keep on biting your sweet lower lip
Do let me feel the crack of your whip
Do let me hear your little whispered oui
When the veil of night falls, I’ll be bending my knee

It wasn’t meant to happen, we weren’t meant to be
One continent too far to touch, not to listen or to see
Was it an angel or a devil that turned on the device?
To us the link was mystical, others called it a vice
From our palms a beam burst out of mad desire and joy
Like the rush of waters that renew and destroy
It took one whisper only for our souls to attune
We held our magic mirrors throughout our honeymoon

Across the magic mirror we fell in and out of grace
We called each other sweet names and slapped each other’s face
We ruffled up our hair, entwined our fingertips
Stared in silence longingly and stroke our lonely lips
At a glance we guessed what each was thinking of
When the lights went dim, you taught me to make love
Time stood to a still and then ran out too soon
We held our magic mirrors throughout our honeymoon

We were both well versed to keep others at bay
Be it by cane and rope, or whiskey and role-play
To the coal of words our cold defences fell
Did we really touch? Could we ever smell?
Like knights under a spell we lowered our bloodied steel
Did we really meet? Could we ever feel?

Our bedsheets still untouched, there came our parting day
What the angel gave, the devil took away
Perched on a burned branch, a bird with broken wing
I seek for your reflection in every living thing
In every blade of grass, in the glowing butterflies
In every moonlit water I glimpse your island eyes
In every moving cloud, in every lost balloon
I mourn our very own magic mirror honeymoon

The tarpaulin’s still in the tropical heat
Over the dead grass a trample of feet
The sisters in rags at the market sell coal
The boys chase after rags tied into a ball
A few lovers stroll hand in hand by the sea
All but the drummer who sits under a tree

His lips spell a rhythm soft as a prayer
His hands strike a drum that is no longer there
Consumed in a burst of kerosene flame
Lost to a war that no-one can name
The dance soon forgotten by all but he
A lonesome drummer who sits under a tree

He remembers when people spun round and round
When children crowded, ensnared by his sound
Now they stand in a line, queuing for rations
Dumped off a truck of the United Nations
He keeps his eyes shut, taps over his knee
An invisible drum, sitting under a tree

There’s a house by the beach all fenced in barbed wire
Built like a bunker for the gas men to hire
Now the gas men are gone, the house owned by a bank
And to keep all the furniture from going rank
The air-con must run full blast night and day
A guard paces the yard to keep beggars at bay
Eighty locked rooms that no-one can see
Of course, not the drummer who sits under a tree

The government says, you should soon all return
But up in the north the thatches still burn
To the famished who leave it will soon be revealed
That death’s on the outlook by an unweeded field
What will he do? Is he once more to flee?
A runaway drummer without even a tree