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Composer:   Ed Hooke
Date of Composition:   October 2014
Date of Recording/Copyright:    2014

Commentary

Dr Eric Berne was the creator of the Transactional Analysis psychoanalytic framework,  which proposed that each of us switches between 3 “ego-states” called Parent, Adult and Child, with the Child being the most important (and most often misplaced) of these.  He also used the terms “Games” and “Pastimes” to describe patterns of behaviour (with definable psychological and emotional consequences) which human beings use to structure significant parts of the time between birth & death.  His most famous book was “The Games People Play”.  Dr Berne later explored the notion of life-defining scripts which many people unwittingly follow, such as “Waiting for Rigor Mortis” in the book “What do you say after you say ‘Hello’?”

Samuel Becket was an Irish playwright perhaps best known for the play “Waiting for Godot”. One reviewer described “Waiting for Godot” as a play in which nothing happens in the first act; then in the second act, nothing happens all over again.  The play sets out a bleak view of human life with the central activity of the core characters being waiting for the arrival of the never-seen Godot which they believe will certainly happen either today or, if not, definitely tomorrow.

The bridge I had in mind for the first line of this song was London Bridge (not to be confused with Tower Bridge) during a weekday morning rush-hour.

A favourite woodland walk took place near Wendover, Buckinghamshire, England

Thrown on, faded, jaded clothes protect against the day.

None see the tears for lovers left.  Plunge back into the fray.

Remembered hills in sunshine, woodland walks seep across the mind.

Another week, uncertain, bleak.  Is happiness truly behind?

Waiting still for rigor mortis, Godot and his friends.

Count the cash.  Collect the dust.  It never always ends.

Bury me in games and pastimes.  Cling to what we know.

Retweet like birds old scripted words.  Where did that Child go?

Bodies swarm across the bridge.  The puffing traffic sticks and surges.

Trains ooze in and out amidst this chaos.  Speakers blare out jolly dirges.

Glimpse a thin, ragged child, bewildered, scared and lost.

An image seared then disappeared amongst the stroboscopic heated frost.

Waiting still for rigor mortis, Godot and his friends.

Count the cash.  Collect the dust.  It never always ends.

Bury me in games and pastimes.  Cling to what we know.

Retweet like birds old scripted words.  Where did that Child go?

Review
A hidden gem.

                [Me]