Fish - Man With A Stick (from 'A Parley With Angels' EP)

I was inspired to write this lyric after my father died in May 2016. He was a strong, proud, well-respected man who, like most of us, found growing old difficult. When he reached his mid 80's he was becoming a shadow of his former self and in the last few months of his life he relied more and more on his trusty walking stick to get around. After he left us I found it hard to look at any old men walking with a stick. I started to think about our relationships with sticks in our lives and how they go from being associated with fun and play to becoming something more sinister and symbols of power eventually supporting us as our strength weakens and old age takes its toll. LYRICS Old man checks his rear view mirror, wispy hair, familiar eyes Journeys alone, unsure of the exit, straddling lanes his signals ignored Deaf to the horns, blind to the anger, stalled in the traffic of a fast moving world The Man with a stick Long rod dipping fishing hollows, short sword slays the ranks of weeds Bat of ash on the edge of a diamond the kiss of willow before tumbling bails Rock n’roll snares, cheerleading batons, the pencil scratches on an empty page A pointer raps on a cloudy blackboard, a cane taps time on an outstretched palm Learning the lessons, reciting the mantra that sparing the rod is spoiling the child Says a man with a stick, watch the man with the stick, the man with the stick And you force back the tears; stand in the corner listening to the sniggering of so called friends Hold the pain in a fist, stare back in defiance, and vow to yourself that they won’t hit you again Stifled your hate, channelled the anger, snuck in the system and bided your time You tightened your lip, accepted the beatings and they measured you up for a uniform , you fitted the uniform Then they gave you a stick. A Knobkerrie and a bloodied shillelagh in calloused hands take the lions down Pick axe hafts and hickory truncheons cracking the skulls on the picket lines Bamboo staffs and sjambok switches, cudgels bludgeoning hearts and minds Clearing the streets of a burning township, scattering crowds from a city square Herding the queues of the weak and the hungry, testing the will of the few who dare face the man with the stick You dealt out the blows following orders, the questions were left for another time You held it inside; absolving your conscience laid all the blame on the ‘powers that be’ You gave them your all, got a watch and a bungalow, mothballed the uniform and faded away Lost all you loved, withered and vulnerable, abandoned your car at the side of the road at the end of the road, your fate unavoidable The son becomes the man The man with a stick, a man with a stick. Old man follows cracks in the pavements, leans weary at the end of days Unsteady, checking his balance shuffles along on his lonely trail The man with a stick