We spoke about words by Chris Ellis
These are the words I would never write
Until I saw a songstress in a basement one night
A paying guest and a blissful treat
How was I to know we'd eventually meet?
She had that look, the one that makes men come unstuck
And a way of holding herself
Eyes of promise, presence and confidence so sure
Spiritually transmitted ahead of the opening score
When she sang she connected
She traced my spine with a finger
Guitar and voice in a barefoot waltz with Matilda
Intense and pure then adult, like a whore
Imagine a lullaby sung by Fonda
With each verse you love her longer and stronger
Beautiful antipodean, wild at heart
Spellbinding is a word that fits the part
Second time around, in the most unexpected of places
We spoke about words, expression and exchanges
Flattered and foolishly expectant I accepted
To be the man who's credit might be rejected
So these are the words that don't conform to instruction
Inspired, none the less, by a siren in a basement
Suggested, delivered, amateurish and incomplete
How was I to know we'd eventually meet?