Quote

Of all the girls I ever knew some loved and some denied me And all the words I ever said have been no use to hide me And all the songs I ever sung each one of them untied me And all the girls I ever loved have left themselves inside me.

Al Stewart

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Al Stewart
Age: 79
Born: 1945
Born: September 5
Poet
Recording Artist
Singer-Songwriter
Glasgow
Scotland
Alastair Ian Stewart
Left
Loved
Untied
Ever
Learning
Sung
Knew
Denied
Knowledge
Hide
Words
Management
Girl
Girls
Use
Songs
Song
Inside

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Jimi Hendrix played loud and free, Sergeant Pepper was real to me.
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Do you remember the church across the sands? You stood outside and planned to travel the lands, where the pilgrims go. So you packed your world up inside a canvas sack, set off down the highway with your rings and Kerouac. Someone said they saw you in Nepal a long time back. Tell me why you look away, don't you have a word to say?
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Look to the past and remember no empire rises that sooner or later won't fall.
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The evening sings in a voice of amber, the dawn is surely coming.
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Nothing that's forced can ever be right, if it doesn't come naturally, leave it.
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Whoever you pretend to be, you must face yourself eventually.
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We measure our days out in steps of uncertainty not turning to see how far we've come. And peer down the highway from here to eternity and reach out for love on the run.
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She comes out of the sun in a silk dress, running like a water color in the rain.
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She doesn't give you time for questions as she locks up your arms in hers. And you follow till your sense of direction completely disappears.
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The literati in their cellarsPerform semantic tarantellas.I wish I did it half as well as them.
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I know there's a big bad world out there, but I rarely come across it.
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Only two to three per cent of an audience is interested in words and pays attention to lyrics most of the rest of it is about image or the beat or the sound, or else it's a tribal thing - country & western, rap, heavy metal, with historical folk rock off in some kind of cult.
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Movie queens diffuse into Cinema haze, while libertines read pornozines in street cafes.
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There's room in the world for one historical folk-rock singer to make a decent living, and I happen to be it.
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You reach out your hand, but you're all alone, in those time passages.
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Looking so cool, his greed is hard to conceal, he's fresh out of law school, you gave him a license to steal.
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On a morning from a Bogart movie, in a country where they turn back time. You go strolling through the crowd like Peter Lorre, contemplating a crime. She comes out of the sun in a silk dress running like a watercolor in the rain. Don't bother asking for explanations, she'll just tell you that she came in the year of the cat.
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Louis Armstrong playing trumpet on the Judgment Day.
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