Summer Sun

Nearly ten years after the Rwandan genocide I sat by in the sun in beautiful Sardinia reflecting on my good fortune. The children were playing noisily in the pool, close to hand I had una bionda, and the summer sun evaporated the stresses of work and relationships. Like any thinker with a conscience however I recognised both the transience of my good fortune and the arbitrary nature of such blessings as I had. Many years later I was to console myself, working as I was in Thailand, that the same moon shone above me as shone above my loved-ones in England. There in Sardinia I reflected that the same sun, both mood-mender and menace shone above me and above those in deep and desperate distress. I do not accept that good fortune is indicative of God’s favour for as the bible notes God causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. I wrote this song to acknowledge my well-earned good fortune and the sadness at the misery of others that impinged upon it.

Music to follow soon…

Summer Sun

The Summer sun beats down on my back,

the wind caresses my hair.

There’s ice in my glass, flirting by the pool,

I know it won’t last but I don’t care.

The office can wait,

the bills can wait,

the traffic can wait as well.

I’ve earned this reward and you won’t get me back,

before it snows in hell.

ice in my glass... flirting by the pool

ice in my glass… flirting by the pool

Life ain’t easy,

but you get by…

in a land of plenty.

But the first will be last and the last will be first,

when the Reaper collects his dues.

The summer sun beats down on my back,

a searing wind fingers my soul.

There’s death in the grass

memorial skulls Rwanda

memorial skulls Rwanda

troops are on the move.

To last til tomorrow is my short term goal.

The crops have failed,

politicians have failed.

My heart’s failing as well.

The children will die by the side of the road, before it rains here in hell.

Battles untold,

to get a hand-hold,

here in the two-thirds world.

But the first will be last and the last will be first,

when the Reaper collects his dues.

Summer sun © Peter Giles


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