Run Salaryman Run

A punk song (demo of course) I wrote inspired by the morning commute in Tokyo. You might prefer the lyrics to the song itself, which is an incoherent mess.


Office, metro, flat, shop, office repeating
Staring at the floor, staring at the ceiling
Staring at the faces but there’s nothing much to see,
on the Tozai Line metro to Nihonbashi.
An artificial place, falsely far away,
But gotta get there and back within a day.
On a distant planet there’s an empty seat,
On this one there’s a tin of restructured meat

Run run salary man
Run for your life
Run while you can
Run run salaryman
you can run but you’re still
a slice of ham

Platform nine, train departing, gotta run,
Gotta get to work cause the meeting’s begun;
Begun but never ends, friendly never friends,
No point, no exit, but let’s pretend
That there’s a reason that you’re hurtling down the Marunouchi line
That you’re a dead man running, salaryman resigned
To overcoming obstacles, every one the same,
So you can get back to your netto games.

Run run salary man
Run for your life
Run while you can
Run run salaryman
you can run but you’re still
just a slice of ham

Clench your little heart, clench your little fist,
If you dropped dead on the Oedo line you won’t be missed.
No-one gives a damn who you really are,
Fuck ‘em salaryman, get out of there.
Run salaryman, until you dead
Die, salaryman, put your head
On the tracks, in the oven, on the dantodai
Sayonara, salaryman and goodbye.

Run run salaryman
Run through the wall like a battering ram
Run run salaryman.
Run for the hills, run while you can
Run salaryman, run to the top,
Run for the hills… and then stop.

There, now you know how ludicrous my songs are you can try another one. This one, as you’ll soon discover, was written — fifteen years ago in a shack in the middle of Japanese nowhere — after I had been playing the guitar for three weeks. It is quite embarrassingly basic, but I still like the point of it.



Sit right down I won’t be long,
just what seems to be wrong?
Give me the facts.
So feel a little queer,
Does it hurt when I press here?
There there, relax.

Yes, I can see what you’ve got
It’s a common case and not
A mystery
We can fix you up just fine
These things happen all the time
It happened to me.

Listen up Doc knows best.
Just take your fluids and get some rest.
It takes time to get well.
But till then it hurts like hell.

You may feel a little crazed,
But it’s just a passing phase,
Wait until
You have got the hang of it,
It might hurt a little bit,
Just sit still.

I know you feel a bit insane,
But you’ve got a good excuse,
You’ve got a black hole in your brain,
And heaven and hell are breaking loose.

Listen up to Doc’s advice,
I’m going to make you feel quite nice,
But it takes time to get well,
And till then it feels like hell.

I’m feeling low I’m feeling high
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry
I burst in tears I don’t know why
I feel like I am going to die
I feel alive and I feel dead
Perfectly confident then dread
Doc says there’s a black hole in my head
Can I have a puppy dog instead?

Listen up to Doc’s advice
I’m gonna make you feel quite nice,
But it takes time for something new to begin
It takes time for something new to begin
It takes time to shed your skin.


In honour of the incredible Borscht I had for lunch and keeping with theme of songs I made in remote places, here’s an instrumental from the green, green gardens of the east.

I know, I know, amateur stuff; but I’ve got literally hundreds of these. Consider yourself lucky I’ve only subjected you to three. Or four, if you count this one, which you might like to know has someone else singing.