Getaway (1996)

Everybody needs an out

A way to exit

An escape route

It’s way too crowded

The thoughts in my head

You gotta get out

Be somewhere else instead

 

Everybody needs an open road

A hiking trail

A highway code

Nobody knows you

There’s a stranger in town

Going under the radar

But you’re never alone  

 

GETAWAYGETAWAYGETAWAYGETAWAY!

GETAWAYGETAWAYGETAWAYGETAWAY!

 

Everybody needs a parachute

A way to break the fall

A place to take a shot

They’ve got you pinned down

They know where you’re at

Try to disappear

But you keep coming back

Everybody needs a mum and dad

A steady job

A decent pad

But all the bright things

You thought were pure gold

They’re part of the trap

Make your body go cold

 

GETAWAYGETAWAYGETAWAYGETAWAY!

GETAWAYGETAWAYGETAWAYGETAWAY!

 

Can’t rob a bank without a…

GETAWAYGETAWAYGETAWAYGETAWAY!

 

You got no-one to thank when you…

GETAWAYGETAWAYGETAWAYGETAWAY!

 

Am I a Brit or a Yank?

GETAWAYGETAWAYGETAWAYGETAWAY!

 

Throw me in the tank

GETAWAYGETAWAYGETAWAYGETAWAY!

GETAWAYGETAWAYGETAWAYGETAWAY!

Words & music by Clem Media

Yeah I do get that urge sometimes to just walk away. Not in a dark way. I was never into that Joy Division ‘why don’t I just kill myself ?’ kinda thing. Most of my songs are nearly always about energy and moving and staying angry, rather than being sad and stuck.

But I don’t mind changing my scene if I don’t dig what’s going on around me. I’ll just get on a plane or a train or hitch a ride, head off on a tour with no gigs booked or sign up for some crazy scheme. The plan is to have no plan, you know what I mean?

I’m always dreaming of heading off somewhere but not really knowing where. So many times I’ve wanted to just walk out the door – wherever I’m at - and keep going. That’s how I am. I see that now. Like Syd Barrett walking to Cambridge – you know that story? I wonder what that would be like, just walking off and disappearing. Sleeping in hedgerows, wandering across the fields with just the sky and the rain and the wind. I guess he had a home he was headed for. Not sure where I’d be headed for.

I’ve been crashing at my Dad’s house. Or Martin’s house rather – although there’s still so much of Dad’s shit around the place, I’d say it’s more his place than Martin’s even now.

It's not like it’s a shrine or anything, but Martin’s kept a lot of stuff. A LOT. He keeps saying I should think more about my roots, about where I come from. I’ve been reading Pa's diaries a lot and listening to taped interviews. I found out a lot of stuff about him I didn't know. Stuff I'm not even sure if I wanna know. But I guess I've been looking for clues a little bit, about how I fit in – or don’t. In the end that’s probably the truth. I don’t fit in. Not in any family picture I ever saw. My Pa, my Ma, Sis… they’re not that real to me. I never felt connected, you know.

It’s like - Martin worked on a family tree for his book about Pa  and he wanted to tell me where I really come from, but it doesn’t make any difference to me. When I was born, I know my Pa wanted to say I wasn’t his, and he didn’t hang around much anyway. And then when I was older my Ma couldn’t wait to get rid, I don’t know why. I guess I was cramping her style. And my big sis was forever trying to lose me, get me off her trail. So what was I gonna do?  I got no family. No wonder I got itchy feet.

Honestly, I feel like taking off right now. Just walk out the door. Go find someone or something to believe in, or just a new ride, a new thrill. Or maybe just run away to somewhere quiet and hang out with normal people with no hangups, no baggage, no way of bumming me out.

I’ll be 30 years old next year, you dig that? Just thirty.  My life should just be gettin' started. Instead people talk about me as if I’m some kinda has-been. I feel like I’ve been through some kind of war and I’ve come home thinking I might be some kind of returning hero and it turns out nobody gives a shit. I suppose that’s what it’s like. So now it’s just me and Martin sitting around in a country house with loads of my Pa’s shit all around us.

What will I do next? I don’t know. Write more songs maybe. Get bored shitless listening to Martin talk more about the family tree. I reckon I’ll be one of those corpses they find that’s melted into an armchair over two years and nobody’s fucking noticed. Now you see why I like to take off when I can?

Keep fucking moving. To prove I’m alive.