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No message here, just painful personal experience. I was pleased with this song because it is very emotional but yet communicated in a buttoned up way consistent with my very English upbringing. It has alternating counterpoints of childhood memories and the clinical langauge of estate agent descriptions that somehow mix together. And more; there is no poetic licence here save the fact that my parents had no phone by their bedside. What good is pain unless you can get a good song out of it?

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'Must be seen'                                  by Martin Day

I used to see things black and white, the future coloured brightly.
Father drove his charger home, to guard my slumber knightly.
And when the morning came I'd play,
And home was never more than a breath way.
        Second bedroom, cupboard space,
        Once strewn with toys, a special place.
        Dining room with parquet floor.
        In stocking feet, I'd surf ashore.

Days of chasing, racing hearts, and evenings full of laughter.
We were living near the edge of happy ever after.
And now the sign that says, 'For sale'
Marks a childhood grave in Cuckoo Vale.
        Fitted kitchen, panelled walls,
        Raid the larder, and down the hall.
        Quiet study, garden view,
        From the warring, I withdrew.

        Must be seen, viewing by appointment.
        Must be seen, avoid disappointment.
        Look around the perfect family home.
        It's a dream, a good buy.

I saw my father, strong and kind, protecting me from dangers,
Always quick to emphasise, 'You never talk to strangers',
But let a stranger bring dismay.
He broke the news to me on Boxing Day.
        Sitting room with fireplace,
        Gone the Christmas pillowcase.
        Master bedroom, bedside phone,
        Where Mother lay and wept alone.

© M Day 29-Sep-1991

















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