Chair and the Stair Male vocal written by Mark Shearman

You can buy this song or the lyrics at https://songbay.co/portfolio/122348

Never Enough For You V2 written by Mark Shearman

You can buy this song or the lyrics at https://songbay.co/portfolio/122348

Collide 2 Another version written by Mark Shearman

You can buy this song or the lyrics at https://songbay.co/portfolio/122348

Flyaway Song Written by Mark Shearman

You can buy this song or the lyrics at https://songbay.co/portfolio/122348

Collide Song Written by Mark Shearman

You can buy this song or the lyrics at https://songbay.co/portfolio/122348

Built To Fade Song Written by Mark Shearman

You can buy this song or the lyrics at https://songbay.co/portfolio/122348

Reincarnation As a Teapot

Love Grows Old

 

Listen up so I can tell you a story

From lovers growing old

Some wait for fate and glory.

Some would aspire to be bold

 

The lover walks among the flowers

Wallowing in the sun

Wondering why she left him alone

And out there having fun

 

The music fades but the song remains.                   

Love has left us with a lingering pain

Souls are forgotten as results are driven

Reminding us we should all be forgiven

 

Can you remember the ace I played 

Stranded in the middle of a debt repaid          

Hoping for a long time

That you would be incline

 

We learn too late as the night falls

How close we came to distant shores

Snatching at the sky, desperate to see

A sliver of hope of a world that could be

 

Don’t give in if the pace is slow

Success achieved with another blow

Fresh eyes stare at the skies

Contemplate where this all lies

 

Can you remember the ace I played

Stranded in the middle of a debt unpaid

Hoping for a long time

That you would be mine

 

Level the playing field with another blow

Don’t give in if the pace is slow

What the hell is it we all gain

Yearning for a change a different domain

 

Come with me now, it’s time to go

Floating on a promise of a different show

Forever loved you soon will be

Sailing on a wave of love’s glee

 

Listen and I'll tell a story

About lovers growing old

Some would wait for fate and glory

Fortune favours the bold

 

The lovers walk among the flowers

Wallowing in the sun

She no longer cares why she left him alone

Now she is out there having fun

Sherm

Emma

 

Wine upon the table

You creep across the lawn

Your dress across the chair

Now present in my bed

Skies darkening to night

Hope fills my life once forlorn 

Sherm

 

A Tree House for Shelby (Scene Extract)

 

Dylan, nervous and apprehensive, observed as she thoughtfully stepped along the forest floor catching every sunbeam that pierced through the low flamboyant, floppy, canopy above. She shone, her hair shiny black, long and loose. A knee-length flowing, thin cotton dress, in the sunlight, failed to hide the contours of her body. Espadrille ribbons tied high around her cut calves a delicateness to this feminine beauty.

She was enchanting. Her name Shelby Bennet, singer, songwriter, and recently awarded the status of American A-list actress. Dylan was trounced floating above the clouds then brought back to earth with a screech.

“What the fuck, fuckwit, are you playing at? You were supposed to wait for my specific revised instructions are you purposely building what can only be described as something out of a Tolkien novel. Do I look ten? Do I look like I have children?”

She shuddered like the actress hamming up her point. “What line were you in when God was distributing brains you moronic, pathetic, Tarzan wannabe and you,” she pointed at Jake who was stunned and squirming.
“You, flunky sidekick banana boy, get the hell off my property.”

This all said with Dylan’s camera crew behind her. Referring to Jake as banana boy due to his hearing aid.
“Technically Tolkien's Hobbits lived underground well half-and-half and my brother’s earpiece is five thousand pounds worth of state of the art..."

“I don't care,” she screeched interrupting him.
Dylan's anxiety level heightened. “Bollocks! We worked to your exact instructions you approved my drawings.”

“Clearly not,” she paused and looked at the camera. “Imagine,” she said, in a low voice as if moving from one side of the stage to the other pointing at the air, “a faraway place,” her voice changed to a raging scream, “now go there and hope those idiot people value your opinion and don't think I am paying for this lot you better remove it quick before the press get a picture of it – oh wait a minute – too late.” She false laughed in his face.

Dylan had tuned out and was sucking up the smell of her fresh, floral perfume. She had tiny wispy hairs on her and arms and glowed with a subtle amount of perspiration. He thought she was magnificent. Jake’s late retort brought him back to reality.

"What is wrong with you lady?" said Jake in his dull tone nearly stuttering with anger and signing at the same time.

“Don't want to hear it,” she waved him away shooing him with her fingers.

A black jeep skidded to a halt beside her. She climbed in and purposely instructing the driver to accelerate, and wheel spun in a puddle of mud. Plastering them with earthy sludge. They stood dripping in cold shock to the delight of the camera crew and producers.

“You have two hours to vacate my property then I will unchain the hounds,” she yelled.
“What!” screamed Jake, “you bleeding… people don't behave like that in polite society. That's what separates us from the monkeys you Neanderthal.”
“Wow, easy saber-toothed tiger, that was cutting,” said Dylan, side glancing the camera trying to lighten his bravado, his sarcasm enraged Jake further. Dylan grabbed his arms stopping him from launching his claw hammer at the Jeep. An action he would never normally do as he was way too hippy passive.

“What a controlling bitch. What is her problem and why didn't you say something?” said Jake.

“I'm speechless. I can’t explain,” he whispered and signed. He felt bad for lying, he knew why he just didn't expect such an over-the-top reaction from her.

Jake eyed him as if a light bulb switched on. “You slept with her didn’t you!”

Dylan sighed, raised a jaunty eyebrow, stared with brooding intensity at his brother and then flicked his eyes to the side as if to say we are still on camera.

“Does that tool belt come with tampons you pussy tell me the truth,” said Jake, playing to the camera.

 “Get the equipment and tools together I'll try to find out what just happened.” Dylan smothered the camera lens with his hand forcing it to fade to black.

After his last meeting with Shelby, which there had been five, mostly with abusive hissy-fit tantrums, where she called him bad skinned, beer, seamen breath. He wrote a negative, criticising letter to this awkward pain in the ass, prima-donna to vent his feelings and frustration at her outrages demands and petulant behaviour. He never sent it; he would never commit anything in writing that was negative.

The internet has taught people to stop making public shows of themselves, which later could haunt them. Dylan’s father gave him advise and not all of it was misogynistic. He often repeated about Abraham Lincoln's self-control and understanding criticism is pointless. Lincoln realised pointedly chastising someone, especially in writing, only made them defend themselves, justifying their actions. It hurts someone’s pride, arouses resentment and in 1842 almost got him killed in a duel to the death after he publicly ridiculed, through the local newspaper, an obnoxious politician named James Shield. At the last minute, the duel was cancelled leaving Lincoln contemplative.

Dylan wrote the email to vent his anger whilst clutching a glass of his old man’s favourite flavour, Old Monk Indian rum. Somehow it was sent, maybe one of the other carpenters saw it and couldn't resist or he drunk sent it.