• Murray Lachlan Young

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    Do it, do it now! - How Freakin' Zeitgeist Are You?

    The Voice of a Discarded Christmas Tree 

    As I furnish the street 
    Greet the pavement alone 
    Brushed by nonchalant feet 
    Once the heart of the home

    From the chainsaw’s refrain 
    Did my journey begin?
    As the sap fled my vein
    Advent ushered me in

    As a symbol of peace
    Festive hearts I inspired
    In a twelve day long lease
    With bright lights I was fired 

    With a star on my brow
    Dressed in silver and gold
    Oh but look on me now
    Cast adrift in the cold

    See the beer cans adorn
    Where presents once lay
    Newly slain but un-mourned
    For the foxes to spray 

    Lying down by the wheelie bin 
    Dressing the curb
    Winter coat wearing thin
    As you pass unperturbed 

    But a moment my friend 
    Let me whisper one thing
    As you witness my end
    Know I once was a king


    Man time


    Fifteen blokes on trip to the Costa
    Three days struck from the mid life roster

    Fifteen men from the skinny to the burly
    Lager in the airport little bit early
    Jolly with the trolley on a cheap flight over
    Ten shaved heads and cool comb-over

    Banter at a canter from the jowl and the belly
    The foreign soft porn on the hotel telly.
    Tickling the tapas with cash wad hand off
    Mini bar death match iPod stand off

    Lemon and salt do the bird flap whinny
    The age inappropriate jeans too skinny
    Minibus taxi late night hot spot
    Very loud music T-shirt not hot

    Hands in the air with the dance floor banging
    Eyes on the prize with the man boobs hanging
    Space probes land on distant comets
    Grown men twerk and inevitably vomit

    Back to the airport wishing they were fitter
    Evidence proliferates on Instagram and twitter.
    After waking in the morning with a very thick head
    To a twelve man spoon in a beer soaked bed

    Three days struck from the mid life roster
    Looking like death from a trip to the Costa
    Never touching alcohol not another cig
    Home again home again jiggedy jig.


    Hotter than Barbados

    Murray Lachlan Young 19/07/014

    A sniff, just a sniff of the sun in the sky.
    And ours is not to reason why.

    Yes it’s ten mile tailback, caravan carve up
    Beer bellied lobster, white leg and sandal
    Fish and chip sunburn, vampire seagull
    Prison camp rock pool, winkle internment

    Pensioners crinkle and babies explode
    As buses make sticky black grooves in the road
    As media banners do testament pay
    That it’s 'Hotter by far than Barbados today'

    'Hotter than Tunis' 'Hotter than Rome'
    Windbreak partition and cool box and dome
    Tent to annex a square foot of sand
    As we strip to our ‘cozzis’ and seek to be branded

    And burnt like a beast on the spit
    Before struggling off with our mountains of kit
    To the car, where we sit and we move and we sit
    And then move and then sit and then sit for a bit

    Crawling home after dark much more dead than alive
    With a look of surprise that we really survived
    Then we gingerly say in the cruel after glow
    ‘I think I’ve definitely caught the sun, you know?’


    The Incomers

    All the buzz from Murrays recent play The Incomers can be seen at:


  • Listen again to Songs from Murray's acclaimed BBC Radio 4 series The Alien balladeer.

    Murray Lachlan Young

    Murray sings the songs of some of those who walk the roads less travelled.


    Now also available for your permanent enjoyment from:


    Murray Lachlan Young on 6Music Breakfast

    A Poem for the Pope, in 140 Characters