A reading of 'Postcards' from Jacob Davies’ new book ‘Every Night is November’, out June 3rd and available exclusively on JDVSWriter.com. Words – Jacob Davies Music – Rand Aldo, Jay Varton, Hampus Naeselius & Jacob Davies Edit – Jacob Davies Image – Nic54 With huge thanks to Hannah Marsden for spoken word lines. Words ‘Eerily, it is night On the tight, twirly Victorian little road Both months before and after the snow Looming, gangly trees extenuate the shady grasp of the night There is a meeting, in a secluded area Between two secluded, separated hearts As she enters the scene, reality departs He’s not hiding away his face He’s so very happy to embrace That old complexion of both hope and home That quickly got away How far is too far? Your answer is written on a postcard Why in the year 8052 in the second December? Are you still dreaming of her? You got your day of fame And then, of course, you lost it again But it’s somewhere hidden here, amongst the rubble Written on a postcard, asking for trouble Spilled out drunk, onto the table with All of your past scars She re-appears, and smiles “Hello” As if nothing at all had changed And tells some nice stories “You wouldn’t believe what happened next” To make it all, somehow, fit together And make sense To listen and believe is to ignore the present tense To ignore the past tense “You mindless, unwise child!” Tripped, fallen so far Head first again. A car windshield, shielding from the battering rain Accelerate to Nottingham Accelerate towards Notre Dame Accelerate with me, anywhere, that isn’t here. Accelerate to Nottingham Accelerate towards Notre Dame Accelerate with me, anywhere. Take me anywhere. Here in this dream Wave eagerly the only true desires of this man The long-lost, desires of this man Hear her say “Now he’s gone, I love you” Hear her silly voice say again “Now he’s gone, I love you I love you I love you I love you.” So, you wrote your pompous little poetry And sold your pompous little book But it didn’t solve anything did it? You took all your thoughts And you threw them to Jupiter, until you felt so alive You wished you were dead You published your tactless little book And no one understood a single word you said So, you smiled and smirked And felt mildly irked That you had less days than nights Time will always grasp and reappear The very saddest days of your life Have surely been and gone The streetlights, leading on, tell you There are still many more left to come On the tight, twirly Victorian little road Merge the terms bleed and bled Fragile, emotionally bendable, to be teased and played The trees change to postcards, until you suffocate Your chest caves in Again, heart open wide for the world to see But this Victorian plain is conceived in the scheming eyes of she The lights of the Victorian set crash your way and illuminate Everyone claps and hollers, and laughs cruelly at you You’re just so desperate to ask If any of the champagne-tasting madness was true Eerily, it is day As the curtains, the projection of the road is snatched away But she is still there, for now. Have you really been Mr Burbank all this time? Open your eyes, remember you are wrong Now, she is gone. It’s far too late to care about what’s real Does anyone really care what is real? Your answer is on a postcard Your thoughts are all half-hoped delusions But your tears, back on planet earth, are real Your tears here and now, are real.'

Recorded version of 'I Was Right' as part of EP 'Who is Jacob Davies?'. 'I Was Right' can be found in poetry collection 'Every Night is November' JDVSWriter.com Words - Jacob Davies Read by - Jacob Davies Edit - Jacob Davies Music - Jay Varton Words 'Chevrolet, car cuts through smoke I arrived as the punchline of the joke It was all ok and fixed, but then it broke I was right. Ryan has got a nasty scar, Forced sneers and real tears are so bizarre. He fell and vomited, after he came so far I was right. Steel cup, plentiful table, Is just tomorrow’s miss-sold fable. I promise, I kept going for as long as I was able I was right. Now, it’s over and done, Whether or not I was supposed to stay strong. The last chapter has come, and its gone; I was right. I walked to Wakefield, I tried, I walked to Austria, I cried, And feared you’d say goodbye. And I was right. February, February, February coach Drive me home. February, February, February smoke Lift me home. February coach is a reminder I am nobody’s future. Heart alive and full at Easter Dead before all of Yorkshire. February, February February coach Teaches me More than what is necessary; February, February February coach Drive me home. December coach, I arrive home The profane aisle is not to compare Yet still I look into darkness And hope that somehow, you’re there. I look point blank into the lonely darkness And I pray to God that you are there, But I am never right.'