Chuck, an old friend, is a musician in DC who occasionally asks for a fake band or song to imagine when he’s recording. The results are regularly excellent and can be found on his blog
youchill.com
along with loads of his excellent and frequently hilarious songs. This time around I got a title in my head when my father fell over and cut his head twice in a week. I sent Chuck the title Gravity Hit Daddy, thinking it might be an interesting jumping point. Then I had twenty mins while my daughter was asleep this morning so I had a bash at the lyrics myself. They turned out much more like a c1966 Dylan song, with occasional digressions into Hamlet, Frost, The Big Sleep, REM and Isaac Newton along the way. It worked out better than I thought it would but still dwells within the realm of bad Dylan, as pretty much any attempt at songwriting since does in some way.

Gravity hit daddy just a mornin back in June

Slapped him like a wet fish on a rainy afternoon.

Socked him in the choppers and sent him back to bed

With twenty pounds of ridicule stapled to his head.

Gravity hit Daddy: it ain’t open to conjecture

Daddy couldn’t hit back cos he’s some kind of objector

Dunno if he’s pissed now: he can’t exercise free will

But Gravity hit daddy and he’s fallin’ still.

Daddy ain’t the same now and he’s even off the butts

Says he fears the glowing red spot scupperin’ his guts

Couldn’t get his prayers heard with a suitcase full of Popes

Ambition’s lost its will to live, it sits around and mopes.

Sleepin’ in his orchard now, his town seems far away

A far-off place where every face is open to decay

Amazement on his lady sits and washes dirty sheets

All stained with what came out of him from all those old defeats.

I might not have a part in this

It might just take its toll on me

But give me what they stole from me

I’m hidden from your eye

You might just learn a lot from this

It may not make much sense to you

Good neighbours made this fence with you

So stop your asking why.

When gravity hit Daddy he was wearing platform soles

A corduroy medallion and a pocket full of holes

Now when I hear you coming up to read your bits of Bible

My senses dull, I feel the pull, I’m chokin’ on survival.