Fold – Salvation (A Collection of Poems by Mr Gee), released October 28 2013 on limited edition CD and digital download.
Salvation, the title track of this debut collaboration between Fold and Mr Gee, was played & praised by Lauren Laverne on BBC 6 Music.
Recorded by Fold and Mr Gee in Leeds and London.
Vocals on 1, 2 & 4 recorded at Fossil Studios, London.
Produced & mixed by Fold.
Mastered at Cottage Road Studios, Leeds.
Original Artwork by Gerald Lopez.
Art Direction by Claudia Wafer.
1. Salvation (ft. Mr Gee) – 3:06
Save the promise of protection
Save the connections
Save the procession
Save the confessions
Save the pressure of public perception
Save the treasure that comes from collection
Save winter’s discontentment, a cold summer’s resentment
Save voter apathy, a crap football team and short spans of attention
Save mishandled scandals, undamaged faith in professionals
Save the alchemist that balances science and intervention
Save industrial strikes
Save the extra daylight
Save the rainy days, last night a DJ saved my life
Pray that unknown Tinas aren’t saved by well known Ikes
Save the good intentions that pave the days of our lives
Save the bumblebee
Save the humble ministry from tumbling amongst the weeds
Save the police deputies and sheriffs that messed with Bob Marley
Save the deterrent inherent in all the world’s armies
Save us from the next flood, earthquake or tsunami
Save the invite
Save the party
Save us from belief
Save us from the grief
Save us from the separation of the chaff from the wheat
Save the daily bread, the daily rice, the daily peas
Save the missing pieces to make the jigsaw complete
So before an offer can be made of salvation
Let’s save ourselves and then work on the nation.
2. A Victim’s Mentality (ft. Mr Gee) – 2:37
My desires have fallen victim to my pauses
as my promises will fall a victim to my breath
Yet as twilight forms a victim to the morning
my life shall never become a victim of my death
Who is the oppressor and who are the oppressed?
Who controls the mould that traps our souls
for he who rolls the dice holds the keys to treasure’s chest
Freedom can sail in on a half-shell
but does it ride the wave of a crest?
The full moon forms a cocoon
so we delightfully dance to the tunes
played by somebody else
You see everybody knows that on the streets you rule
You’re hoodied up to self-destruct but yet you look so cool
You make others love to copy every move you do
but your plight keeps them amused because you act the fool
But in the company board rooms – we never see your face there
Why die for post codes that you don’t own because bruv, nobody cares
The only slang this world understands is about the juice you got to spare
to buy the bricks between the mortar or the land beneath the air
Only effective journeys are worth repeating
and only reflective fables are worth rereading
For a story can never be told in the same way twice
and different generations each remould an old excuse to give it life
But can we honestly claim to be a victim all the time?
Is our sickness fully owned by the man who holds the dice?
So, who is the oppressor and who are the oppressed?
Its the thinking of remaining a victim in this life that brings you death
3. This Common House (ft. Mr Gee) – 3:25
Born of distant chimes from Big Ben sounding out clear
are now but faded harmonics in history’s memory
Recollections of thoughts, opinions, slangs and ideas
each government reinvents the wheel rotating new energy
Each debate is but a fragmented echo of past voices once heard
each law a composition of their melody
Each new scandal is a revelation of what’s already occurred
as the future desires make amnesia hereditary
Call out to the same buildings where the lawmakers now roam
call out to these pavements of pedigree
Question the side-street philosophies of these corners of stone
the dead ends that turn our neighbours into enemies
If Westminster could speak, what secrets would it leak
if the concretes could talk would it tell?
If the gutters and drains could wash away our pain
could it wash away the stain of our guiltiness as well?
For far far away from the tales of this parliament dear
lies a land full of wonder ‘a plenty
A place of Mesopotamian and Persian ideals
where dark gold would eventually legalise a dark entry
Call out to the desert, the sand and the wind
call out to a civilisation of centuries
Call out to the flesh meeting bullets of sin
a dangerous oasis now proved to be empty
If only the oil could repent for the trouble it caused
and our appetite could relinquish its frenzy
If only the fire for the fuel could apologise for the shock and the awe
would our memoirs be linked to such legacy
So reply to Big Ben’s chimes throughout the ages of time
remind this common house that its bound to its penalties
Let us pray that the laws which govern all our lives
ring true with a new virtue of fidelity
4. Passing Strangers (ft. Mr Gee) – 4:16
You say I look familiar, no I doubt that you’ve ever noticed me
As I sweep the city streets early in the morning when you’re usually asleep
And in the evening when you’re yawning and maybe forgotten to brush your teeth
I’m constantly polishing to keep the toilet seats in your office squeaky clean
So obviously my face is unfamiliar to you for we live in worlds apart
You won’t see me begging on the corner or offering to wash the windows on your car
I have no drugs to sell you, I provide no call girls to thrill you
And I’m quite sure that I’ve never threatened to mug, rob or kill you
So is it any wonder that our paths have never crossed?
You seem lost; questioning whether or not I actually exist
I inhabit the lowest positions where my face is only just allowed to fit
I know I don’t speak the language too good
I know that my culture and my customs are sometimes misunderstood
And yes, I’m easily overlooked because I’ve never committed a crime
for your tabloid articles – those paranoid charters full of stories
detailing how I’m ripping out your heart and have no function in your society
for the life of me its remarkable
Do you think the toilets actually clean themselves?
Or that the warehouses cast a fantasy spell to magically stack their shelves?
My labour is exploited daily for next to nothing
From fitted eletrical systems to problems with kitchen and bathroom plumbing
Yet my only dream is to see my children free from such struggling
So I’ll take all the hatred this world has to give
The experience is humbling
I work in the restaurants that feed you, the hospitals that heal you
Cut me and I bleed too my feelings aren’t see-through
Yet you pass me every day with nothing left to say
then go home and speculate about how I don’t assimilate?
I understand your frustration with the changing face of this nation
I come from the place where cheap labour came from
Different continents its the same song
But I work to provide my keep, and my keep provides my heat
and the rent and the food for my family to eat
But tell me, what do you see? A criminal, a wastrel, an immigrant ungrateful?
No I’m none of the above labels except maybe a convenient scapegoat
So forget that you ever saw me, just ignore me
And we’ll both carry on walking undaunted – passing as strangers.